International Magical Cooperation: To Make Friends
by mindofemmette
Summary: International Pen-Pals. The summer assignment spells disaster for both the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Hate-His-Fame and Quidditch Superstar Viktor Krum. Relieved when they are granted the opportunity to write anonymously, neither is prepared for the quick, easy friendship that blossoms through their letters, or the unexpected wish to reveal who they really are... (12 Chapters)
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: International Magical Cooperation: To Make Friends  
**Pairing**: Pre Harry Potter/Viktor Krum  
**Other Characters**: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Sirius Black, OMC  
**Rating**: PG  
**Chapters**: 12  
**Summary**: Summer after 3rd year, Hogwarts students are assigned international pen-pals. What started off as a distraction from worries surrounding Sirius and the Dursleys quickly turns to more as Harry finds himself growing increasingly attached to his mysterious, anonymous new friend. What will it take for him to give someone the chance to see 'Just Harry' beneath the Boy-Who-Lived mask...?

_A sweet, intriguing little story that I've returned to on and off again during bouts of writer's block with my other story. Finally finished just in time for a '12 Days of Christmas' gift to my lovely readers! Will be posting a short chapter every day until the last chapter-and the revelation of the Triwizard Champions-on December 25th. Will happily consider a sequel if there's interest!_

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

The last few days of term had dragged on for Harry Potter. He had been plagued by never-ending speculation and gossiping on the capture and escape of Sirius Black. Sirius Black—Ministry's Most Wanted, the most feared criminal of the day… and unbeknownst to most, Harry Potter's godfather.

As he normally did, Harry had been building himself up to face the end of term (and thus the dreaded summer holidays) for weeks now. With the briefest glimpse of freedom from the Dursleys, though, when Sirius had talked of taking him away and giving him a home, all of Harry's carefully constructed defenses had come tumbling down. Of his three years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry had felt the least prepared this year to leave the castle and return to Privet Drive.

Harry sighed as he looked around the empty train compartment. Hermione had offered to run interference with Ron, reminding Harry that Ron always got over his moods eventually, and surely they could all sit together on the ride to Platform 9 ¾, but Harry had seen the anxiety in her eyes. He knew she hated conflict, and he hadn't wanted to put her in that position. As for Ron and his 'moods,' Harry supposed he really shouldn't have been surprised that his best mate had succumbed to jealousy once again after being left out of the time-turner rescue. Harry didn't know how to make it better: they couldn't have brought Ron, with his injured leg. And really, what exactly did the red-head regret missing? Running through the forest chased by a werewolf? Almost having his soul sucked out by a mob of dementors? Watching Sirius fly away on Buckbeak, no idea when they would ever see each other again…?

Harry rubbed his temples tiredly. He had spent the final days of term sneaking away into deserted classrooms and towers to brood and finally figure out that there never was any logic in Ron's jealousy. Now, sitting on the train and waiting to see who would end up stuck sitting with him as compartments filled up, Harry just felt incredibly _lonely_.

"Oi, Lee—"

"—over here!" Harry looked up at the cheerful shouts from the corridor just as the compartment door slid open and Fred and George Weasley bounded inside, sprawling onto the seat across from Harry.

"Well hello there, fancy—"

"—finding you here!" They greeted enthusiastically, but Harry was sure he saw concern hidden behind their smiles, and they were watching him closely. He mumbled a hello, and slid his eyes back to the door, grateful for the distraction as Lee Jordan, Quidditch commentator, joined them in the carriage and snapped the door shut behind him.

"Hey, nice find! I didn't think there'd be any empty carr… Oh." He trailed off as his eyes finally landed on Harry, the small boy tucked into the corner by the window, knees drawn up to his chest. "Sorry, didn't see you there," he added sheepishly, shuffling awkwardly for a moment before he suddenly stilled and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Hey, wait, Harry Potter!" He said, grinning widely as he made the connection. Harry, for his part, concentrated on neither blanching nor hiding his face in his knees, though he couldn't stop his shoulders from tensing up defensively.

"Um… yeah. Hi, Lee," he said quietly. Lee, though, simply clapped him on the back a few times in a friendly manner before dropping onto the seat beside him, leaving plenty of space between them so as not to crowd the younger boy.

"Wicked. Man, I love announcing Gryffindor games; I didn't get to announce such crazy stunts even when Charlie Weasley was on the team. Epic." With that, he turned his attention fully back to Fred and George, drawing them into a heated debate on the profitability of their latest 'invention.' With one last look at Harry, the twins gave their full attention over to their friend, and Harry quickly relaxed. This was… nice, he realized. He let the energetic chatter wash over him for a few minutes while he watched the Scottish highlands race past outside the window. Eventually, he pulled out a piece of parchment and some ink, as well as the silver-trimmed card detailing their new summer assignment.

_All Hogwarts students years three through six  
will be randomly paired with a student from either:_

**_Beauxbaton's Academy for Magic_**_  
~ or ~  
**Durmstrang Institute**_

_Both premier wizardry and witchcraft institutions._

_You will send a letter to your foreign counterpart within  
the first two weeks of the summer holidays, extending a  
hand of international friendship and cooperation. Pending  
reply from your writing partner, you will maintain this  
correspondence until the start of term._

_Be advised that this assignment has been dictated by the  
Ministry of Magic, and thus any student found to have  
neglected their obligation will be disciplined accordingly_

_It would behoove you to represent your House and your  
school well._

_Happy Holidays,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

Below this was a hand-written note in Professor McGonagall's tidy script:

_Potter -  
I brought your request to the headmaster, and he was able to ascertain that  
one other student in this 'pen-pal' program similarly wished to be matched  
namelessly. Professor Dumbledore has worked out arrangements with the  
other school, and spoken with Hedwig. She will know where to take your letter  
simply by telling her it is to go to your pen-pal. The other student has been  
likewise debriefed and knows to use only your owl to return post. She will  
therefore have to stay on with your partner until a return letter is produced,  
but I trust you will bare this gracefully given the trouble the headmaster has  
gone to in order to grant your request. Best of luck._

_-MM_

Harry refolded the instructions and tucked them away, tuning into the conversation between Lee and the twins just enough to note that the topic had changed (whether or not Percy would notice if they shaved his eyebrows in his sleep) but that his riding companions were no less distracted, before pulling out parchment and a quill and beginning his letter.

_ Dear Stranger,_

_(Believe it or not, that was actually the LEAST awkward greeting I came up with… suffice it to say you may regret being stuck with me as your 'pen-pal.')_

_First of all, I just wanted you to know how grateful I was that you had also requested to correspond anonymously. I won't ask your reasons—I am sure you have no more desire to share yours than I have to share mine—but I do hope you are at least as curious as I about this letter-writing assignment. It may just be the dread of the summer holidays finally upon me, but I find myself oddly eager for someone to talk to, even in so unconventional a way._

_I suppose, as this is my first letter, I should tell you something about myself. Though, if I am honest, I don't think it makes for very interesting reading. I am a Hogwarts student, turning fourteen this summer. I spend my summers in England, with my mother's relatives. I have a secret talent for cooking, though only on rare occasions have I truly enjoyed it. It is admittedly less of a pleasure when you don't have someone to appreciate your creations. Does that make me conceited, I wonder? More than cooking, however (more than anything else I have ever experienced, to tell you the truth), I love to fly. Although I have flown with the aid of a hippogriff, a phoenix, and an enchanted muggle car on a few memorable occasions, nothing compares to the freedom and joy of speeding through the air on a broomstick, of veering off into harrowing turns and dipping down into bold dives with nothing more than the tilt, twist, and sway of your body…_

_I just remembered that it is summer now; I won't be flying again until I return to school in the fall. Ah well; what's one more reason to count down the days? I am actually on the train away from school now, and with each turn of the tracks I realize I am that much further away from Hogwarts and am more and more glad that I now have one more person to write to this year._

_I can't think of anything else too interesting about me. Or at least, nothing else I am comfortable sharing, I'm afraid. Hopefully if I've left anything terribly important out you will just ask me in your return letter. I am looking forward to learning about you. Considering I had no idea what I might say to you when I started this letter, I suddenly find myself full of questions. I want you to have the same chance to introduce yourself on your own terms, however, and so will be patient. Hopefully, when the time for questions comes, I will keep my curiosity in check enough to not be too prying._

_I hope this letter finds you well and—if nothing else—makes you smile._

_Sincerely,_

_A Friend _

Harry was re-reading his letter a second time, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth absently as he concentrated on his carefully penned words, when someone cleared their throat and he suddenly noticed how quiet it had become in the carriage. He shielded his words hastily under a spare bit of parchment and looked around, quickly noting that Lee was absent and both twins were watching him, expressions curious but without the usual glimmer of mischief.

"You alright there—"

"—Harry, mate?" He was sure he heard concern now, and he blinked a few times before furrowing his brow.

"Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?" He was genuinely confused and sure it was showing, but the twins simply shared a meaningful glance before turning back to him and leaning forward.

"Oh, we don't know, we suppose—"

"—it could have something to do with how quiet you are—"

"—how quiet you've been for days—"

"—and that you're sitting in here—"

"—conspicuously not where our ickle baby brother and the bookworm are sitting—"

"—and that you flinch—"

"—and frown—"

"—and walk away—"

"—every time someone mentions Sirius Black—"

"—as if it hurts to hear his name." Harry gaped at them when they stopped talking to watch him expectantly, then flushed, bit his lips, and looked away. He knew he couldn't say anything; he was just surprised that he wanted to.

He wouldn't say he was close with the red-headed twins—not like he was with Ron and Hermione, anyway—but after his two best friends, Fred and George were probably the next best thing he had. While he never really spent time with them outside of Quidditch practice, they had always seemed to be waiting in the background, watching his back and keeping an eye out for him.

His first memory of the twins was from the day he first boarded the Hogwarts Express. He had been terrified, left at the station alone with no idea how to get on the platform. Then had come a sharp wave of embarrassment when he had been forced to eavesdrop on the Weasley's conversation, and bud in to ask for help. The twins had caught his eye just as he blushed, and had immediately proceeded to banter back and forth, tease their mother as though she had forgotten their names, and in general pull attention away from a very self-conscious Harry and onto themselves. He hadn't been sure they were doing it on purpose until they both sent him a wink before taking off and running straight through the brick wall. When he got the train, the twins had popped out of nowhere to help him lift his trunk on board. He had seen the excitement in their eyes when he told them his name—not that he quite understood it at the time—but they hadn't pestered him or deluged him with questions. Instead, they had parted with a cheerful "Wicked!" and matching waves, before disappearing once again.

Then there were countless times, of course, that they had shown their friendship in Quidditch practices and games over the years, but none more clearly than the rogue bludger second year. The twins had abandoned game tactics altogether, completely ignoring Oliver Wood's shouted admonishes in favor of circling around Harry to keep him safe. Knowing how important Quidditch was to a Weasley, it had meant a lot to Harry that they had been so willing to ignore the rest of the game in favor of protecting Harry.

There were other moments, too: including Harry in their Christmas celebrations his first year… rescuing him from the Dursleys the summer before his second year… giving him the Maurauders Map his third year, for Merlin's sake.

Harry's heart ached with the thoughts that surfaced when he remembered the map. Rummaging into the pockets of his robes which were bundled in a ball in one of the luggage racks, Harry carefully extracted and sat back down, brushing the parchment softly with his fingers before looking up at the twins. He looked up to see soft smiles on the twins' faces, and suddenly he couldn't remember why not telling them was ever that important.

"Can you keep a secret?" Harry asked, eyes suddenly alert and intense, as he looked from one red-head to the other. Without even pausing to check with each other, both twins were nodding solemnly at him.

With a deep breath, Harry told them everything:

Sirus.  
The Grim.  
Illegal animagi.  
Scabbers, who was really Peter Pettigrew.  
His parents' secret-keeper.  
Professor Lupin, and what happens when he doesn't take his wolfsbane potion.  
The dementors.  
The Time-Turner.  
Buckbeak.  
Ron's jealousy.

And finally, Harry smiled down at the map and finished explaining.

"I always wanted to pay you back somehow, for giving me the map. Now I know I'll never be able to." Pulling out his wand, he quickly activated the map and ran a finger lovingly over the word 'prongs.' "Moony, the werewolf—Wormtail, the rat (he couldn't help but snarl here)—Padfoot, the dog—and Prongs, the stag." He looked up, eyes shining, and found the twins watching him with eyes wide and jaw hanging open.

"They… you… Prongs…?"

"My dad, yeah," Harry said softly, finally choking up. The next thing he knew, he was being crushed between two red-heads on his side of the compartment, warm arms heavy around his shoulders.

"Wicked," was all they said, and as the train rolled closer to Kings Cross Station, Harry was grateful for the arms that stayed around his shoulders, and the rare quiet moment with his friends.

When they reached the station, the twins lifted Harry's trunk down, and Harry took the opportunity to fold up his letter to his pen-pal and send it off with Hedwig. He figured not dragging the owl through the muggle part of the station could only help with his reunion with the Dursleys.

Before they parted, the twins each put a hand on his shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"We won't tell you how to live your life, mate—"

"—or how to choose your friends—"

"—no matter how big of a prat we think Ron is—"

"—but if you ever need us—"

"—need anything—"

"—at all—"

"—you only need to ask." They squeezed his shoulders simultaneously as they finished speaking together, and then they were gone, and Harry let himself think that maybe—possibly—this summer wouldn't be so unbearable after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note:** On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to me: 2 Turtle Doves... or another chapter of my story! I'm glad I finally get to share this, I think it's rather adorable. I can't for the life of me remember why I ever wrote the first letter, I know I was stuck in the middle of a chapter for my other story at the time... and eventually one letter turned into ten letters, and when I realized the pen-pal time had stopped, I was too sad to let the story go. So I went back and started filling in blanks and plumping the story out with some fluff and plot, aaaaand ta-da! Hope you enjoy as much as me!

Also, I love Emil. He might be my favorite original character I've ever written. He also reminds me somewhat of myself, so I suppose what I'm really saying is that I'm horribly narcissistic, haha!

Good luck to anyone suffering through university finals as I am!

-Emmette

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

Viktor Krum stroked the regal snowy owl who had shown up at his parents' sea coast Bulgarian Citadel. It was moderately sized—as far as castles went—but certainly large enough to rival the pureblood manors of Great Britain. He was home for ten days before he would join his Quidditch team for training and then the preliminary World Cup matches. The ten days may seem short to an outsider, but Viktor recognized it as the gift it was, and knew that Emil Todorov, his closest friend and unofficial manager since being drafted into the professional league, had fought brutally to secure him a break.

The owl had arrived a few days into the summer, brining with her a fascinating, heartfelt letter from his mysterious correspondent. Now, with only one night left with his family before he and Emil left for the summer season, Viktor pulled out the letter (worn at the edges now from the many times he had read and re-read it over the past week) and a clean sheet of parchment.

To say he had been less-than-thrilled at the prospect of the assignment was an understatement. He had long ago given up on making any sort of meaningful connection with anyone who had not known him well before his Quidditch fame. Finding that another student had requested to hide his identity for their correspondence had placated his frustration somewhat, but he had fully expected to force his way grudgingly through a few, uncomfortable letters over the summer before celebrating the end of the pointless project. All those preconceived notions had shifted abruptly, however, with his pen-pal's first letter. The sender had been intriguing, down-to-Earth, with a gentle sadness to his writing that had kindled defensive feelings in Viktor he had always before reserved for his niece and the times Emil's lungs acted up. Smiling at the owl one last time, he finally began to write.

_Dear Friend,_

_That is, after all, how you signed your letter. It is interesting; your letter brings the first time in many years that I have welcomed the thought of a new friend. Others see an image of me, rather than who I am. It is infuriating—like living as a shadow of yourself. Yes, a shadow is a perfect description. Perhaps that is what I shall have you call me._

_I do not anticipate regretting having you as my writing partner—whoever you are. I am, however, relived that you are 'hearing' my English through writing and not speaking. Otherwise, it is YOU who would be regretting this match. Without much time and effort in editing, my English is not so great. I know it is not as common for English wizards, but do you happen to speak a second language? Perhaps then you would understand my struggle._

_Twice in your letter you mentioned dreading the summer. I would think that the eager anticipation of the summer holidays would be a rather universal experience—or is it just you in particular, little friend, who does not welcome the season? I must say I can sympathize with the horror of months without flying: I can't imagine living through such a thing myself. I feel as though there is more to your sadness, though. Am I asking questions I ought not to? I will try not to push (though I fear I am much less noble with my own curiosity), but consider this an open invitation to confide in me._

_I suppose I must share something of myself with you in turn. I am a Durmstrang student, and am seventeen (near eighteen), thus earning me the privilege of writing you as my 'little' friend. I would have had reservations, had I known your age going into this assignment. I am glad I did not know. You write beyond your years, and rather than bored or uncomfortable, I find myself feeling only somewhat protective. It is a welcome change._

_I did not do well in sharing about myself for long. I admit, it is not something I enjoy. Still, I would like us to be equals in this friendship, so I will try again: I, too, have quite a love for flying, though my own experiences remain strictly with broom-sticks (how you can profess yourself uninteresting and then say you have flown with a phoenix… I have never even SEEN such a rare creature!). I play seeker—I am told I am rather good. Do you have any interest in Quidditch, or do you fly just for sport? You did not say. I do not cook, nor do I personally know any witch or wizard who does (at least not well). Once again, little friend, you seem to miss your own uniqueness. When not in the air—an admittedly rare occurrence in my own summer activities—I enjoy martial arts training. I am not naturally talented, but with practice I have been steadily improving. _

_I, too, find myself with more questions the longer I write, and so will end soon in an effort to remain at least half as respectful and uninvasive as you. I wish to know more about you. I admit your letter left me wondering what your summer looks like, if flying is so woefully absent. _

_I wait impatiently for a second letter._

_Yours,_

_Shadow_

Emil had appeared next to him when he was about half-way through the letter, sinking silently down beside him, stretching out his legs and leaning back against the stone castle wall that faced out towards the Black Sea. It was near enough to the edge of the sea cliff to provide the sheltered, secluded feel Viktor loved, while still leaving plenty of space to stretch out and relax without worrying about tumbling over the edge.

Emil had grown up in the small wizarding community at the base of the cliffs. They had met when they were five years old, playing at the beach just outside the village, and had been inseparable ever since. Emil's parents were both magic, though there had been many muggle-borns and half-bloods married into his family line, and while not terribly poor, he was definitely nowhere near the financial circle that Viktor's parents came from. Stefan and Milena Krum had never minded, though, not so much as batting an eye-lash when Viktor first dragged his young friend home for dinner. He made their son happy, and that's what mattered. Over the years, as Viktor and Emil grew closer, he and his friend had spent more and more time up at the Citadel together. Emil was the youngest of four brothers, and by far the smallest. He had been born early, and spent the first few years of his life with frail health and circling through healers. Even now, nearing adulthood, strenuous activity or exposure to cold would have his lungs, especially, acting up. Between his father's indifference for his 'weak' fourth son and his parents' unhappy marriage, Emil had never enjoyed the time he spent at home.

The day they both received their Durmstrang letters, he and Emil had their first true fight, and Viktor returned to his parents hurt and confused as to why Emil had gotten so upset with him as Viktor talked excitedly about all the wonderful adventures that could be had at school. His mother had pulled him onto her lap—something she had stopped doing several years before—and explained that the Todorov's did not send their sons to Durmstrang, feeling the high tuition was not worth the formal education, when there were many (more labor-intensive and less-prestigious) jobs to be had by young wizards with only home schooling. Viktor remembered looking at her feeling utterly lost, and asking how that made any sense for Emil: he was smarter than any of the other kids their age, Viktor included, and surely his weak lungs and heart would make it impossible to work as a creatures-poacher or cauldron-welder like his brothers. His mother had looked sadly at his father, who had gotten a peculiar look on his face before kissing both Viktor and his mother on the head and then storming out of the room. An hour later he had returned, Emil's hand in one of his own and his wand—floating Emil's belongings in the air—held in the other.

It was several years before Viktor learned exactly what had happened that day: how Stefan had gone to offer a full scholarship to Emil's parents, how Emil's father had scoffed at it, asking why he should feed and house Emil during the holidays, then, if he wasn't going to be getting a 'real' job and earning his keep. Stefan Krum, to whom family meant everything, had snapped and yelled at the other man for a solid twenty minutes. In the end, a bag of galleons was enough for Emil's father to sign over guardianship to Stefan, and he had vowed that Emil would always have a home with the Krum family as long as he wished one. Though Viktor accompanied his best friend to visit his mother and brothers dutifully during every school break, Emil had lived in the Krum Citadel ever since.

"Vik? Where'd you go, brother? Your head is in the clouds." Viktor grinned sheepishly over at Emil, who was watching him with one eyebrow raised and rather than answering he handed over the letter he had written to get his friend's approval. He had no secrets from Emil, and the other boy had read the letter from his pen-pal the day it arrived. As Emil accepted the parchment and dutifully began reading without question, Viktor thought for the thousandth time how lucky he was to have Emil in his life. He may not have had the easiest childhood, but the youngest Todorov was stronger than he appeared, and he had flourished both at school and in permanent residence with the Krum family. He was brilliant, easily staying at the top of their class and dragging Viktor along close after him. His shrewd mind and wit, once his confidence had grown, delighted Stefan, who would often get into heated political debates with the young man, and Viktor smirked every time he watched his friend cross his arms and frown unimpressed in the face of one of Stefan Krum's famous tantrums. The Krums were traditional purebloods, so a formal adoption had always been out of the question, but Emil was none-the-less folded into the family and accepted as a close nephew/cousin. Even Viktor's brother, twelve years older than the boys and already well out of the house by the time Emil moved in, had accepted Emil as family without question.

Beside him, Emil snorted down at his letter.

"You're told you're 'rather good' at playing Seeker, huh?" He smirked as Viktor tried to scowl in return, but he could feel the corners of his mouth twitching to smile, and knew Emil had noticed as well. "It's a good letter… Shadow." Viktor received another teasing smirk, but this one quickly slid away to be replaced by a somber look.

"I've never liked the sacrifices you have made in your personal life in order to follow your Quidditch dreams," Emil said quietly. Viktor just smiled at him and gently took back the letter to fold and tie onto the owl's leg.

"I know, but having your steady friendship and my family's support has always made it worth it to me, you know that." Indeed, Emil—far from being jealous or resentful of Viktor's opportunities as many of their year-mates in school had been—had made it his personal mission to help Viktor be as happy and successful in his new position as possible. It had been his idea to develop the surly, scowling façade for the public eye when the first few public appearances and newspaper articles had proven to be overwhelming to a Viktor whose personality was left wide open for judgment. Emil, too, had spent weeks pouring over laws and contracts in order to develop one that would keep Viktor's attendance at Durmstrang shielded from the public if the headmaster consented… Stefan had gladly accepted the mission to bully his old school-mate Igor Karkaraff into signing off on it. Emil had even stormed uninvited into the _Bulgarian Nationals'_ manager's office and secured transport and housing as Viktor Krum's "advisor" during all summer training and competing, ensuring that the boys weren't separated between terms.

"Damn right I'm worth it," Emil quipped, but when he bumped his shoulder into Viktor's he was smiling openly, and both boys watched in comfortable silence as the snowy white owl took off, soaring away across the Black Sea. They had one last night of peace and quiet before training began.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

As had become habit on nights he couldn't sleep, Harry pried open the loose floor-board below his bed and pulled out the neat stack of letters from that summer.

He had received a few from Fred and George already; they talked about pranks they had pulled on the family, new invention ideas, and any number of random, mundane, or border-line crude bits of commentary. They never pestered him with questions, or concerned tirades on serious matters, but without fail each letter had been signed "Always Got Your Back – Gred and Forge."

Hermione had written as well; both her letters had begun with a polite tidbit about her summer, followed by a long lecture on not doing anything foolish with regards to Sirius (always dubbed "Snuffles" in their letters, just in case), getting his homework done, and keeping control of his temper with his relatives, then finally ending with well wishes and vague reassurances that Ron would 'get over it' soon, and they would all properly catch up when they saw each other later that summer.

Sirius himself had not yet sent a letter the magical way, but Harry had received four blank postcards the muggle way, signed only with a tiny paw-print drawn in the corner, so he knew that Sirius was alive and traveling. The first three had been from various places in France, and the last from Northern Spain. A part of Harry was nervous that Sirius was leaving clues about his whereabouts, but the postcards were a steady reminder to his relatives of what (or rather, who) awaited them if they treated Harry too badly this summer, and Harry couldn't deny that both the protection and the peace of mind the postcards provided were appreciated.

The top two letters were the ones he pulled out of the stack to spread open. First, the letter that he had received from Ron, at last:

_Harry – _

_Hope your summer's going well. Fred and George are driving me batty, I  
swear they've pulled more pranks on me than the rest of the family combined,  
the prats. At least you don't have that to deal with at the Muggles'!_

_Anyway, dad thinks he can get us all tickets to the World Cup this summer from  
someone at work. It's going to be wicked! You'll stay with us after that, I'll  
send you details later on._

– _Ron_

It was just so typically Ron. No apology, not even any mention of the fight and subsequent weeks of silence, just a complaint, a bit about Quidditch, and that was that. Harry shook his head half in exasperation and half in fondness for his predictable, temperamental friend, and then returned the letter to the pile. He was just glad no one was mad at him anymore.

The second letter was his pen-pal's return, and he carefully unfolded the well-read parchment to read it one last time, then set it next to him on the bed and began to write his response.

_Dear Shadow,_

_I know I promised not to press the issue, but I can't help but wonder if you and I chose to remain anonymous in this exchange for similar reasons. I, too, have an image that precedes me, and seems to blind most people to who I am as a person. I quite like your description of a shadow… I have always thought of the experience as being forced to wear a burdensome mask. I rather think I will have to come up with some other way to choose my own nick-name, however; "Mask" simply doesn't have as nice a ring to it as "Shadow."_

_I suppose I cannot speak for your verbal abilities, but if your first letter was anything to go by, I don't think your English skills are at all lacking. I was actually quite impressed. As for myself… I suppose I do speak a second language of sorts, though not one I have had to study, so I can't say it helps me empathize. You'll have to forgive me, but that is all I am willing to say on the topic._

_I had not realized my first letter was so glum; I certainly did not intend to whine about my holidays. You're quite correct that most students look forward to the time away from school in the summer, but for me, Hogwarts is the only true home I remember. I live with my mother's relatives, as I mentioned. They are muggles, and uncomfortable with magic. My mother was a muggle-born—I know from a friend that Durmstrang does not accept muggle-borns and half-bloods. I also know, however, that an individual's feelings on a matter do not always align with the larger group's. I hope this is not a breaking point in our burgeoning friendship, but I can't bring myself to apologize if it is._

_I was excited to see that you play seeker—I do as well. I play on my house team at school, and miss it terribly in the summers. One of my best friends mentioned that his father thinks he'll be able to get tickets to the world cup this year, and invited me along. We ended the year on rough terms and I hadn't heard from him all summer, so I would have been happy for an invite to de-gnome his garden with him at this point, but this was exponentially better. I've never seen a professional Quidditch game, and I must admit the idea is exciting, though I'd best try not to get my hopes up for now. Have you seen much Quidditch outside of school games?_

_As for the phoenix, it's not so incredible, really. Fawkes (that is his name) is the familiar of Headmaster Dumbledore. I was in a bit of a fix my second year and Fawkes came to help. He ended up healing an injury with his tears—they have magical healing abilities, as it turns out—and then carried me out of… um, where I was. He is quite a remarkable creature, though, there is no denying it._

_I have never learned any sort of formal self-defense like martial arts, though dodging my cousin and his friends as a child might qualify as 'escape and evasion tactics.' I have a rather distracting bruise on my side, at the moment, which is reminding me I need to do a bit of practice of my own. I always seem to let myself get a bit too complacent during the school year, only to be reminded when I return to my aunt and uncle's house that I've gotten a little slow. No matter; I always get back in shape before too long, and if my cousin can't catch me his little gang aren't much of a threat._

_As I re-read my letter thus far, I wonder if I haven't already shared more about my summer than is wise. This sort of openness is not common from me, and it makes me more than a little nervous. I think you'll laugh, but it is something you said in your letter that keeps prompting me to share—that you feel protective of me. I don't know that I've ever had that, at least not that I remember. _

_I still don't know what you should call me. I'm not all that special, really._

_I hope you will still choose to write back._

_-A Friend_

He set his quill down and looked at both letters critically. It was true, Hermione had told the entire common room all she knew about the two foreign schools at the end of last term, and Harry remembered feeling uneasy hearing about a school that barred muggle-borns and half-bloods. Somehow, though, Harry just had a gut feeling that his pen-pal wouldn't care who Lily's parents had been. He knew he was probably being a little reckless with what he had revealed about the Dursleys… he never even spoke that openly with Ron and Hermione about his life here… but there was something empowering about finally sharing his story, even if it was with a perfect stranger, and it wasn't as if they knew they were getting letters from Harry Potter anyway.

He ran a finger again over the now-smudged line in his partner's letter that said he felt protective of Harry. It had stunned him the first time he read it, re-reading the words five times over before he was able to drag his eyes away to finish the letter. He realized, through this assignment, that he had never had the chance to get to know someone as 'just Harry.' Growing up, he had been Dudley's freak cousin, and the moment he entered the wizarding world, the weight of the Boy-Who-Lived had settled onto his shoulders. It was exhilarating, and though he sorely missed Hedwig in her absence, he was eager to send another letter off.

He had asked the others about their pen-pals, wondering if their experiences were anything like his own. Fred and George, naturally, were using their correspondence as yet another chance for mischief. Fred, who had been assigned a witch from Beauxbatons, had used his first letter to express his un-dying love for her, which included a jumble of cheesy love poems with horrendous rhyming and incredibly awful Hogwarts-themed innuendos (he had been quite distraught at the missed opportunity when Harry had offered up a particularly clever one about the Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin in his reply, and swore to work it into the next letter if his pen-pal actually dared write back). George, who was writing to a bloke from Durmstrang, had recorded word-for-word one of Percy's self-important rants on cauldron bottoms from his 'vital work' at the Ministry. The parchment had ended up over four feet long, and had ended with a heartfelt promise to be more thorough in the next letter when he wasn't in such a time crunch. Harry was fairly sure that both twins were hoping their pen-pals refused to respond, thus excusing them from the assignment.

Hermione, being Hermione, had steadfastly followed the purpose of the project and spent the first half of her letter detailing British customs and school traditions, and the second half politely smothering her pen-pal with questions of her own. She was the only one, aside from Harry, who had received a response so far: a young man from Beauxbatons who—according to the twins—seemed more interested in In Hermione's looks and whether or not she was single than any fort of cultural exchange. Hermione, to put it lightly, was less than amused.

As for Ron… Harry thought he should be more surprised than he was, but hadn't really been shocked when he heard that Ron had bribed Ginny to do the assignment for him (she had missed the age requirement by a year) in exchange for taking her share of garden de-gnoming for the entire summer. Little did he know that Molly had spoken with Ginny just that morning about taking over the chore as her own for the summer, deciding that rather than cycling through her children for various tasks and mediating inevitable fighting over whose turn it was to do what, each child would have their own assigned job for the summer. Ron had been furious when he figured out how he had been tricked, but—not wanting to admit to Molly that he had asked Ginny to do his schoolwork—had been forced to follow through. Ginny, for her part, had written a friendly letter to a Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons... and conveniently 'forgot' to mention to Ron that she had written it as herself, rather than signing it in his name. Fourteen years living with the twins really should have taught him to be more specific in the deals he made by now.

Harry couldn't help but smile, thinking about the mischief his friends were up to with their summer assignment. He, himself, was completely satisfied with how his own letter-writing was progressing.

"You up for another long trip, girl?" He asked Hedwig, smoothing the white feathers that had rumpled up around her neck with a gentle, loving caress. She preened and nudged his hand with her beak, just as carefully as he was handling her. "Of course you are, you talented beauty. Thank you so much for helping me with this, Hedwig," he praised her as he tied his letter securely to one of her legs. "Be safe, and take your time; I can't wait to see you again, though." With that, he carried her over to the window and let her launch off his arm, watching her until she was just a speck in the distant sky, and then had disappeared from sight altogether.

* * *

**Author Note:** Oh how I wish I had the creativity to actually write the twins' letters to their pen-pals... Alas. I think my only real irritation with this chapter is Harry's reaction to Ron's note. The Slytherin in me cringes at the utter Gryffindor-ness (shush, that can totally be a word).

A few people have asked about the various pen-pals of other characters. To be honest, this is about the extent of what is mentioned in this story. Emil mentions in passing later that he has one, but that's about it. The only one of significance is Ron/Ginny's pen-pal being Fleur, which I have plans for if I do a sequel and continue further into the tournament with this series, but won't be important in this 12 chapter 'part one.'

Speaking of Ginny, this is first fic I've ever written where I am truly fond of her character from the start. She's always annoyed the hell out of me in canon (although I admit that may be less about her and more about the fact that I really really think Harry Potter should be gay...), so I have a hard time not taking it out on her character in my stories. I rather like this one though. Really, this story made me such a sap. :P

Hope you're enjoying it!

-Emmette


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note:** I suppose the one positive thing about being kept up all night coughing is I keep getting chapters posted reeeaaaaallly early. Gotta find that silver lining, yeah? Also, as I'm re-reading this story I've decided I officially have a crush on Emil. Damn him and his non-existence... I am cuddle-deprived. Le sigh.

Thank you for the lovely reviews I've been getting for this story, I love hearing your thoughts!

-Emmette

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

As soon as Emil saw the snowy owl approaching in the distance, he signaled the coach that Viktor needed to take ten. By the time the team had landed and were headed to the edge of the pitch for water and quick massages to work out cramps, the owl had landed gracefully on the open door to the locker room, and Viktor was bee-lining towards it.

Emil rolled his eyes with a small smile, knowing his friend had been childishly eager for a new letter ever since he had sent his own off from the Krum Citadel. He eased himself up from the ground, where he had been scanning through magical newspapers and magazines and drafting letters to editors in an attempt to keep the media coverage on Viktor somewhat under control. He collected a large bottle of icey water and a small vial of lotion, the one Viktor commonly used to ease the sore muscles in his hands from his harsh grip on his broom. Turning to walk back to the young seeker, he watched the play of emotions change on his friend's face as he opened and read the letter: excitement, fondness, a brief blush? Emil smirked, wondering what the young Hogwarts student had said. The smirk faded though, and he quickened his steps as he saw a deep sadness settle into his friend's eyes for a few moments. His mood lifted slightly, changing to a soft smile and then an incredulous head-shake, but the sadness didn't leave his eyes, and when he finished reading, the look had returned fully.

"Is something amiss?" He asked gently, reaching Krum and pressing the water bottle firmly into Viktor's free hand, leaving no room for argument. He expected Viktor to hand him the letter, as he had done with the last one, but he hesitated and, in the end, folded it back up and shook his head before gulping down half the water bottle.

"I'll tell you later," Viktor said, and handed over the bottle and parchment in exchange for the little bottle of lotion to rub into his hands. When he mounted his broom and kicked back up into the air a few minutes later, Emil was still holding onto the letter. He fiddled with it uncertainly as he returned the bottle and potion vial, then went back to his paperwork. Viktor hadn't said _not_ to read the letter, although Emil had no doubts he wasn't meant to after Viktor folded it away rather than share it with him. He set it aside, making a few more notes for the letter that needed to be sent to the editor of _Quidditch Quarterly_, but after another ten minutes he tossed it aside, admitting he was too distracted to get anything done. Glancing up to make sure Viktor was focused elsewhere, he slid the letter back over and opened it up, reading it quickly. He had just finished when a shadow fell across his lap, followed immediately by a solid _thud_ from Viktor's landing, and the letter was wrenched out of his hands.

"What are you doing?!" he hissed, and while Emil's first instinct was to snap back in the face of his friend's anger, one glance at the guilt and betrayal in the seeker's eyes had anger leaking away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry… well, I did, but I was worried about you. I didn't think you would be so upset—"

"They trusted me with the things they shared, it wasn't my place to show this to you!" Viktor cut in, and menacing wrath laced with clear hurt was more than Emil was prepared for. He had seen Viktor get protective in the past, but never had he been on _this_ end of the anger. He felt terrible, truly, and knew he would need to apologize properly later, but right now the team was watching them curiously from the air, the coach glaring, and above all of it, he was worried that his friend was getting pulled too far in too fast; he didn't want to see him hurt.

"Vik, you don't owe this kid anything. You don't even _know_ him, _he_ doesn't know _you_. You've gotten two letters from a complete stranger, and you're suddenly so emotionally invested? Take a step back." His voice was pleading, but Viktor only glared at him with hard eyes. He slid the letter into his robes, ignoring the disapproving look this earned him from the coach, and kicked off roughly into the air. Running a hand absently through his hair, Emil watched the jerky, anger-driven spins and rolls that his friend coaxed out of his broom for a few minutes before kneeling down to pack away his things. He had damage control to do, and that took priority over the media…

_Little Survivor – _

_I have never been more grateful for a school assignment than I am for this correspondence, for it has shown me that there are truly good people in this world. I have no doubt you will disagree with me that you belong in such a category, but frankly I do not trust your judgment on this matter, little friend. The more I learn about you, the more I want to know who you are and yet the more fiercely I hope to shield your secret, as it seems the only part of you I will be able to protect. It is a maddening irony._

_You have not, in either letter, 'whined' about your summer. Though, reading between the lines, I imagine you have every right to. This cousin of yours sounds quite dishonorable, and frankly cowardly. What kind of man outnumbers and attacks another person, much less their blood relative? I hold little regard for his parents, either, as you have clearly resigned yourself to this abuse, and therefore I can only assume that your aunt and uncle condone the behavior, at the very least. The fact that you dread your time in their household and view your school, rather than your relatives' house, as home, is more than enough to allow me to draw my own conclusions about your situation. _

_I would like to make it clear, before I go any further, that I hold no ill feelings towards your mother's memory. I do not know if you meant to reveal so much, but you wrote of your mother in the past tense. I am sorry for your loss, my little friend. It is true, Durmstrang began as a private pureblood institution, and to this day only accepts students with two magical parents. I did not choose which school to attend, and though I won't deny the school spirit I have developed over the years, that is not the only practice with which I find fault. Nowhere—and no one—is perfect. _

_Will you tell me about your father? I have my guesses, of course, seeing as you live with relatives, but I won't press you further._

_I think, my friend, that you reveal more than you intend with many of your stories. I was aware, yes, of the healing ability of phoenix tears. Did YOU know that a phoenix will only offer aid in a truly noble and selfless endeavor? That the tears of a phoenix are an incredibly rare gift, only produced when the creature's pure spirit is truly anguished by the pain it sees, sometimes going entire decades without shedding so much as a single tear? It makes me wonder what a child of twelve could have been doing to prompt such comfort. I think you'll find me disinclined to believe any future attempts to deny that you are—at the very least—a decent person._

_I will share with you about my own family, it seems only fair. And, I admit, I find myself wanting you to know me—the real me—and wanting you to find me deserving of your friendship._

_My mother is young, beautiful, and a very gentle woman. She grew ill with her pregnancy of me, and though the healers warned her that she may not survive childbirth, she never considered terminating the pregnancy. Such strength and courage in such a tiny person never fails to humble me. I love her dearly. My father is quite the opposite. Large, brusque, tough. He has high expectations of me, and at times I grow weary from how unrelentingly he pushes me. I have never doubted, however, that he challenges me because he wants what is best for me, and whenever I stumble on that path I know he will be right there to help me find my footing. I forget sometimes just how much he loves me—and I him. Thank you for helping me remember, little friend. _

_I have one elder brother, my father's from a previous marriage, who is twelve years my senior. He was already in school by the time I was born, and while we are close I think our relationship is more of a favorite uncle doting on a spoiled nephew than that of brothers. I do not regret it. My brother is married to a patient, witty young woman who I am proud to call a sister-in-law, and two years ago they gifted me with the most precious little niece. They have not said as such yet, but I believe they are trying to make a big sister of her. I would be absolutely delighted were they to succeed. _

_I tell you all this, little friend, not only to help you learn more about me but also to make it clear that I am not trying to claim I understand what your life is like. I have always grown up surrounded by love and support, and could not imagine a childhood in which I did not know that I was protected and cared for. _

_We don't know each other, and you have little reason to trust me, but I feel the need to tell you anyway: should you ever need a friend—should you ever need a protector—I will be there. My best friend (who is really another member of the family) says I am a fool, to have become so attached to a stranger I received two letters from. My father would more so, if he knew, especially to have exposed such a 'weakness.' Perhaps there is some merit to the opinion, but I find myself refreshingly, recklessly, not caring. This friendship matters a great deal to me, little survivor. I am willing to make myself vulnerable to you if it means you might open up some yourself._

_Yours, _

_Shadow_

Emil read over the letter carefully, before forcing a tentative smile and handing it back to Viktor. The seeker had left the pitch without speaking to him, and then disappeared for several hours before showing up suddenly at his side and handing over the letter he had written in return. Emil had wisely kept his mouth shut until he had read it through.

"It's… very nice, Vik," he said carefully, not quite daring to say anything that might set his friend off again and push him away before they'd worked anything out. Viktor, though, knew him too well and wasn't buying it.

"But…?" He prompted, and the earnest, pleading look in his eyes impelled Emil to be honest, though he was careful to keep his voice low and gentle.

"But, you know I am going to worry about you sharing so much personal information with someone, especially in writing. I know," he added hastily, when it looked like Viktor was going to interrupt, "that he doesn't know your name and you didn't use my name or your family's names, I know you're being careful. But you're clearly invested in this; what if you decide to tell this kid who you are some day? I admit, they seem nice enough, but you've never actually met, you barely know anything about them." He cupped his hands around Viktor's neck, facing him and meeting his eyes insistently. "I do not want to see you hurt, Viktor."

"I know, brother. And I love you for that, even when you're being infuriating." He returned the embrace briefly before they stepped apart. "This feels right, Emil. I want to take a chance. Aren't you the one who's always reminding me that I'm going to have to let someone in some day if I ever want to have a relationship, and not just 'friends with benefits' with other Durmstrang students?" His eyes were pleading now, and Emil knew he had lost.

"You know I can't argue with that. I want you happy. Is this what this is, then? An attraction, not just a friendship?"

"I… I'm not sure, not yet. I would not be at all adverse to the idea," Viktor answered carefully, and Emil simply nodded as though it was just the answer he had expected.

"And the fact that your new friend is just reaching fourteen, this will not be a problem?" Since Viktor had lost his virginity to a witch in their year on his sixteenth birthday, he had not been with anyone younger. Several friends—both male and female—had been happy to share a friendly afternoon or the occasional evening with the famous seeker over the past two years, always with the understanding that that's all it would be, and the promise of discretion. Viktor had never truly dated, though, always too uncomfortable with his fame, and it was one of the sacrifices that weighed most heavily on Emil, who knew what a big heart the seeker had.

"In someone else, perhaps; but the soul is older than the years, in this case." He looked nervous, but Emil only smiled reassuringly. He knew Viktor would never take advantage of someone younger, and Emil himself had been fourteen when he had slept with his first girlfriend, so he honestly had no right to judge. Viktor had so little control over his personal life, between the media and pressure to reflect favorably on his politician father. Even if Emil worried about his friend investing so much in this stranger, he would not take that choice from him. With an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh, he clapped Viktor on the back and guided him over to where the regal white owl sat in the window sill.

"Well then; we have a letter to send off."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Just a short little chapter today. Six and seven are fairly short too, actually, if I'm remembering correctly. Then they start getting longer through the rest. I really ought finish stories before I start posting more often; it's nice already knowing exactly what's coming up next without worrying about my characters surprising me with inconvenient plot-twists and temper-tantrums when they don't get their way...

Enjoy!

-Emmete

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

The morning of his fourteenth birthday, Harry Potter woke early and lovingly looked through his cards and gifts a second time. As per tradition, a small flock of owls had flown in and out of the smallest bedroom at number 4 privet drive around midnight.

From Hermione, he had received four bars of specialty muggle chocolate in different flavors and, naturally, a book. For once, Harry was more eager for the book than the chocolate, and had even read the first chapter in _Magically Ellite: Tales and Tidbits of Beaxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts_ before bed. From Ron, he'd gotten Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, a handful of Chocolate Frogs, and the summer issue of _Quidditch Quarterly_ (which looked suspiciously thumbed around the corners and edges, as though it had been read already). The best part by far had been the short note that had told him Arthur had gotten the World Cup tickets, and the Weasleys would be coming soon to take Harry away from the Dursleys for the rest of the summer.

Ginny had sent him what at first glance appeared to be a leather-bound journal… without its pages. He had been rather puzzled until he read her note.

_Harry –_

_I know the twins have been writing you along with Ron  
this summer, so I figure you're getting quite the collection  
of letters. I know neither of us have the fondest memories  
of diaries, so I reckoned this was better: just place a letter against  
the inside seam, and it will magically seal in place like  
diary pages. The first time you open it, just hold your wand  
to the clasp and say 'open.' Once it is open, you can reset  
the password the same way by touching the inside clasp. I  
know how important your privacy is to you. Happy Birthday!_

– _Ginny_

He thought it was brilliant, and told her as much in the letter he sent back. He then made her note the first "page" before adding in the rest of his letters from the summer in the order he had received them in. Then, he had opened the present from the twins. He had expected to find prank items and sweets, and so was surprised to see two polished wood boxes, each roughly the size of a photograph. Thankfully, theirs too had included a note.

_Happy Birthday Harry!_

_This is from both of us, plus Bill who helped strengthen the charms  
and made it so only you and the person you give the second box to  
can open them respectively, plus Charlie, mum, and dad who all  
pitched in a bit when they heard the idea. What you've got here are  
vanishing chests. Basically, what you put in one pops into the other  
after you close the lid. Now this pair is a bit small (turns out they  
aren't a cheap purchase, go figure) and not the strongest, but they're  
plenty big enough for letters or pictures. They'll need about a day  
to 'recharge' after use when sending non-magic items, and Bill reckons  
that they'll handle magical items now that he's worked his magic (ha!)  
on them as well, though he's guessing a good week to recharge in  
that case. We told the family that it was for that Durmstrang pen-pal  
you've been going on about all summer, but we thought that Snuffles  
might enjoy a little gifty. Whatever will make you happiest. Miss you._

_Always Got Your Back – Gred and Forge._

It was amazing, more amazing than Harry had words for, and made even more precious both by Fred and George's thoughtfulness and by the way the entire Weasley family had contributed. He'd never even _met_ Bill and Charlie! His thank you note back had been gushing and emotional, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

Before all that, though, there had been another letter from Shadow, and the timing could not have been more perfect. After having fallen asleep in the early hours of the evening, Harry had found himself trapped in a nightmare about an old house, an old man, and a blinding green light before Hedwig's sharp tapping at the window had woken him up. Shadow's letter had warmed him up in a way a mountain of blankets couldn't have, and with it he had been able to welcome his birthday in with a smile.

Harry had sent Hedwig off to Sirius with the second vanishing chest and a note explaining how it worked, a little guilty that she had barely taken time to rest, though she hadn't seemed to mind. Now, looking around at his cards and gifts while he waited for his aunt to wake up and call him to make breakfast, Harry decided to work on his reply to his pen-pal.

_Shadow –_

_I had just woken in the middle of the night from a jarring nightmare to find my owl at my window with your last letter. I have never felt as warm and cared for on any birthday I remember as I did last night. Thank you._

_I am fourteen now. I wonder if my relatives remember; it has been years since they acknowledged my birthday. I can still remember the first birthday cake I ever received—although how anyone could forget turning eleven to the sounds of a half-giant breaking down the door, I've no idea. He brought me my Hogwarts letter—the letter that told me magic existed. That was probably the best day of my life, finding out I was a wizard. I don't think any cake has ever tasted as sweet, though I've gotten several in years since. Yours was the first letter of the night this year, but several more owls came today with cards and gifts. I didn't have the sort of family you grew up with, but I've started to build one of my own, I think. There's nothing more precious than feeling loved._

_Your parents sound amazing. Your family must all be so proud of each other. I understand the humble feeling for your mother; my own mother died to protect me. That sort of love… it leaves you in awe, doesn't it? My father… he died that night as well. He was trying to save both of us—trying to give my mother time to take me and run. My life would have been so different if they had lived._

_I must admit, I am a little jealous of your brother. Obviously, I never felt that sort of family connection with my cousin, and my parents didn't have any other children. I think… I hope, I suppose, that I may get some idea of what it's like to be a little brother, in my own way. My best mate has a big family, and two of his older brothers—twins—have always sort of kept an eye out for me. We haven't always been particularly close, but they pulled me aside at the end of the school year, and they've been writing me this summer, as well. They've always sort of been waiting in the background, ready to have my back when everyone else turns away. I think they're in my life to stay, and it feels good. That whole family has sort of taken me in; I'm very lucky._

_I, um… I've told them about you. About our friendship. They can see how much I care about you—about what you think of me—and they worry. They want me to be happy, though, more than anything else (something that has taken some getting used to), they just worry I'll get hurt. I understand how it might seem strange to them, that I feel so close to you after only a few letters… I suppose it might be that it's just easier write something down than to say the words out loud to someone's face. I can't say I believe that's all it is, but I'm certainly no expert on these things. I think… someday I'm going to want to tell you who I am. I'm scared of what that might change between us. With our friendship. You can tell your friend that he's not the only one with concerns, if you think it will help put him at ease._

_I'll get to see the twins soon, finally—and my best friends. The twins' little brother is the one who invited me to the World Cup. I only just heard that they have tickets for sure. I'm leaving my aunt and uncle's house in less than a week, and won't have to come back until next summer! _

_You never did say if you've been to any professional Quidditch games, yourself. _

_Thank you for your friendship; it is a gift that I treasure._

_-Survivor_

Hoping that Hedwig would find Sirius and return soon, he set the letter aside and pulled Hermione's book towards him, eager to learn what he could about Shadow's school.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **We're half-way there! And, more importantly, I JUST FINISHED MY LAST FINAL! I am sick and exhausted but damn am I in a good mood right now.

I hope you're all still enjoying the story!

-Emmette

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

Viktor crept silently out onto one of the parapets of the Citadel, settling himself down against a secluded wall before conjuring a little bowl of flames for light against the black sky. He pulled out the letter he had started to his young friend during the partying after the World Cup match. He and Emil never drank in such a public arena—Viktor because he had a tendency to over-share when inebriated and so avoided it around reporters, and Emil out of solidarity with his friend.

One good thing that came of the rampant inebriation was a swift negotiation with a well-known developer for Quidditch training equipment. Between Viktor's intimidation, Emil's sly maneuvering and a flurry of vodka shots, the boys had for the second time obtained a prototype of un-manufactured merchandise never even made for the market—they were feeling rather proud of themselves. After several hours, though, of being the only sober ones left in a room full of increasingly drunk Europeans trying to drown their disappointment in the loss, the young men had snuck away to a quieter area (relatively speaking) and watched from a distance all the elaborate celebrations taking place in the Irish camps.

The snowy owl had been waiting for him when the team returned to the tents after the match. She had seemed much more restless and unsettled than usual, and it wasn't until he read his newest letter that he understood and crooned sympathetically to her. It must be difficult sensing that her owner was so class but not being able to return without a reply. With this in mind, Viktor had pulled out parchment and a quill and began a response.

_Survivor – _

_Happy Belated Birthday, my friend. I am glad I was able to share the day with you in some small way, though I wish you had said something sooner as I feel now that my gift is woefully late. It is a flight recorder. Clip it onto your broom handle and tap your wand against it to activate it. It will record up to an hour of movement. Tap your wand against it again to end the recording. When you take the ring off and place it back on its stand, you can tap your wand and watch a miniature image of your broom's route. It was created originally as a training gadget, but to be honest it is of little use in that area so it never went on the market. However, I was able to get my hands on a few of the prototypes, and I quite enjoy them. The image lights up, and I find it is a pleasant thing to fall asleep to. I know there are some nightmares that cannot be so simply chased away, but I hope this small gift can help at least a little._

_I did not receive your letter until after the World Cup match, but I, too, was there. I have been to many professional games, as it were. What did you think of the match? If it is not too sensitive a subject (I know it may be for some), which side did you cheer for?_

It was as far as he had gotten before the shouts and exclamations of merriment had turned to terror-stricken screams. He and Emil had stood quickly, pulling their wands as they watched wide-eyed at the Death Eaters that had appeared across the field. They were still standing uncertainly, wondering whether they should go and join the fight, when a British Ministry representative found them and hustled them away with an emergency portkey. They were met in the Ministry by a frantic coach and subdued teammates, all having been administered powerful sobriety potions, before being shuffled off through a series of floo trips back to the Krum Citadel.

They were both shaken, though they handled the stress in different ways: Emil, by retreating silently into his own thoughts and drifting away after a hug from Milena to brood in a corner of the room, observing. Viktor, on the other hand, seemed only to truly process the implications of the attack once he was back in the safety of his home.

"Father, we need to go back. There are families, children, crowded into those camps. They won't have the training we've been given." He was striding quickly back towards the fireplace when a steely grip closed around his arm and spun him around, bringing him face-to-face with a menacing Stefan Krum.

"Where do you think you are going? That is not your responsibility!"

"Not my—that is entirely beside the point!" Viktor snapped back, outraged. "Let go of me! I am seventeen, you cannot hold me here!" It was the first time he tried to undermine his father's authority over him, and the tension in the room increased almost palpably.

"I don't care if you are twice that age; when you are in my home my word is law," his father hissed dangerously. Had Viktor been any less frantic and agitated at that moment, he would have recognized the need to tread lightly. As it was, he merely glared back at his father and spit out the first thing that crossed his mind.

"Those monsters were attacking innocent people—women, children, _defenseless_ people. Do you not see how wrong that is? Have you no heart or decency at all? Is that why you never fought against Him in the war, because you simply didn't care?" As soon as the words were out, Viktor knew he had gone too far. He paled, and opened his mouth to try and apologize, but his father had already dropped his arm as though burnt, then spun away from him, his entire stiff posture screaming his desire to lash back. When he did speak, though, after a few tense moments of silence, he said only five words, in a voice that sounded only sad and tired before he walked out of the room without a second glance.

"Do what you want, Viktor."

Gut twisting, Viktor had turned to his mother, but she would not meet his eyes.

"You've been travelling for hours now; the attack has long since been handled," Milena said softly, then followed her husband out of the room, offering nothing else.

Viktor stood utterly still, frozen in place by guilt and regret for several minutes before a noise in the corner reminded him that Emil was there as well. He heard slow footsteps approaching, but did not turn around, waiting to see what his friend would do.

"I'm scared too, brother." He said quietly, and finally the tension flowed out of Viktor's tense muscles and he let his head hang down in front of him. "I'm going to sleep in the guest wing tonight. We both need time to think." Viktor knew that it wasn't a rejection, that Emil had purposefully kept his tone light and even, but it made it no less difficult to watch him walk out of the room when the last thing Viktor wanted was to be left alone with his thoughts. He walked slowly to his rooms (trying to ignore the emptiness of Emil's own rooms on the other end of the family quarters), managing to sit still and process his reactions for a solid hour before he began to feel trapped and surrounded in his chambers, and retreated outside to one of the castle's walls. He slid a little closer to the light from his conjured flames, then took out his quill and began to write once more.

_Although I hope you were safely away when danger struck, I have an odd feeling this was not the case. Did you see the Death Eaters? We have spoken very little about political affiliations, beyond your concerns about your mother being muggle-born. I assume, that being the case, that you are against what You-Know-Who and his followers stood for. I suppose I ought to be more cautious, not knowing for sure where you stand or even who might be privy to this information, but I refuse to hide my beliefs in this area. I find the acts committed by You-Know-Who's side in the war deplorable. I refuse to buy into the panic roused by a few bullying individuals at a Quidditch match, but were this isolated incident truly to turn into more, I don't think I could stand neutrally with my father. I love and respect him, and I know that his stand in the war kept our family safe and in-tact, but I am my own man and must make my own choices. I try not to push you for anything too personal, my little friend, but I feel I must ask: If the Dark Lord's supporters rose again, where would you fall in the fight that followed?_

_You must be with those twins of yours now, and your other friends. I know you feel honored to have them in your life, but have no doubt that they are lucky as well, to have you in theirs. _

_I return to school in a few days' time, as I imagine you do, as well. This will surely be the last letter we exchange before the start of term, and the summer assignment will be over then. Am I presuming too much to hope that these letters can continue?_

_Whatever you decide, I will always cherish the friendship we shared this summer._

_-Shadow_

_(PS – Some day, I will get you to tell me how you came to find out you were a wizard at age eleven, from a giant breaking and entering on your birthday. You never fail to surprise me, little survivor.)_

It wasn't as long or as elegant as he would have liked, but it felt right. He would have to find his father in the morning and apologize. He had admitted to himself before writing his letter that he had overreacted, but organizing his thoughts onto parchment had really showed him how cruel his words had been. He was only a tiny child during the last war, four years old when the Boy-Who-Lived defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He had heard enough stories, though, especially from his brother Vladimir who was a teen at the time, to know how terrible it had been. He knew his father did everything he could to protect his young wife and his sons. Vlad also told him how the laughter died in Stefan in those years, how the weight of his choice to stay neutral aged him. His personal life motto after the war ended had become "If you aren't part of the solution, you are part of the problem." He had thrown himself into reconstructing the foreign branches of the Ministry of Magic, quickly rising in politics with his tireless efforts to heal the damage done during the war.

Viktor folded the letter up and slid it carefully into a pocket. He would send it off once the snowy owl had found its way to the Citadel. For now, it was late and his body was feeling the effects of having flown in a World Cup match. He needed to catch a few hours of sleep before finding his father, and then going to Emil. There was much to consider before his return to school.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Alright, last short chapter then they get longer until the end. Also, I don't usually do this, but I wanted to thank violetmaid for the review. As a writer, I was extremely flattered that you were able to recognize my writing style from another one of my stories even though you hadn't realized I had written both. For whatever reason, your review stuck with me and it has made me smile several times thinking about it. Gold star for you.

And now, for your viewing pleasure...

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN

Harry waited until the only sounds in the room were the deep breathing and gentle snoring of his roommates before pulling aside the curtains to his bed and creeping over to the window-seat with a small stack of belongings. First, he pulled out the latest note from his godfather and read through it once more, before looking at the reply he had prepared.

_Hey Pup – _

_I've been struggling a little with how to reply to your last note. On  
one hand, I could channel James: "You're writing to some slimy ponce  
from Durmstrang? What are you thinking? They're dark, and bigots,  
the lot of them! Don't trust a word they say or share any personal info."  
And to be perfectly honest with you, that'd be my own gut response.  
Then I think what Lily would say, though. "There's good in everybody,  
Harry; sometimes you need to be the one to give them a chance to show  
it. Follow your heart. Life's a series of chances and choices, and you  
can never win in love or friendship if you never play the game." Great  
woman, your mum, though I still say she was barmy as all get-out thinking  
that Slytherins and the like deserved compassion and other nonsense…  
Look kid, here's what I'm saying: Be careful. I suppose it's hard to  
imagine—even for me—an entire school comprised solely of evil little  
dark lords in the making, so there might be a good egg or two in the mix.  
Whatever your mum may have thought, though, people aren't always  
capable of good. Don't trust easily or blindly, Harry; I don't want  
you hurt. Keep me posted; and I still love these fancy boxes!_

– _Sirius_

And then, the reply he was about to send back through.

_Padfoot – _

_I'm being careful, I promise. The twins are just as worried as you are. We  
talked about it earlier, when they pulled me aside to check on me after the welcome  
feast. They had even looked up some basic healing spells and health potions in case I  
needed them, can you believe it? I know they have cause for worry; they pulled bars  
off windows and kidnapped me my first summer, and you were there when I ran  
away last year… I've just never had anyone look after me like that before. It  
was… nice. Really nice. But I told you: Shadow is with the light. He said he  
would fight against Voldemort if he came back. And he has no idea who I am,  
so it's not like he was just saying what the 'Boy-Who-Lived' would want to hear.  
I… feel like this friendship is real. Sort of sad, I know, since we've never even  
met and I don't know the bloke's name, but we're getting to know each other,  
the important stuff, not some made-up hero nonsense or looks or any of that  
surface crap. The deep things, y'know? I'll be cautious, but I'm not giving this  
up. I love you Snuffles, stay out of trouble and don't do anything stupid!_

– Harry

Harry read it over one more time, then nodded and slid it into the box, feeling the hum of magic when he closed the lid that told him the parchment had vanished from his own box to appear in Sirius's. The past couple of weeks had been great, with them sending notes back and forth every day or two. He had been able to tell his godfather about his friends, the World Cup, the death eaters, and finally his pen-pal. Sirius gave him advice and asked questions and always managed to throw in something about his parents, which delighted Harry to no end. His letter 'journal' from Ginny was steadily filling up, and he smiled every time he opened it.

Harry looked down at the blank parchment and quill still waiting for him. Squaring his shoulders, he picked them up and angled himself so the moonlight shone through the window onto what he was working on. He wanted to run to the owlery before classes started in the morning and send this off with Hedwig as soon as possible.

_Shadow – _

_I saw more of those vile people than I ever wished to. I don't know how close you got, how much you saw… but I watched the Death Eaters dangle helpless muggles in the air, tormenting them. I heard their laughter as they set fire to tents—tents containing sleeping children—and reveled in the fear and chaos around them. It was disgusting, and frightening in a way that I've never quite faced before; to see such depraved humanity… really see it, not just hear or read about it…_

_My friends and I ran into a bit of a scuffle, and my wand was lost in the confusion. Somehow, someone found it and used it to cast the dark mark. I don't know how these things always happen to me. Needless to say, the run-in with the Ministry of Magic officials who found us—and then my wand—was not the highlight of my World Cup adventure. We're all safe, though, and I've nearly stopped feeling repulsed whenever I pick up my wand, knowing what it has cast._

_I told you my parents died protecting me. What I didn't tell you was that they were murdered in the last war. They fought against Voldemort (I'm sorry if the name bothers you, but Dumbledore once told me that fear of a name only increases fear of a thing itself, and I don't intend to give that monster any more power). I was only a baby when they died, and I don't really remember them, but I know that I had parents to be proud of. Nothing in this world will keep me from fighting against that man or his followers if any of them come back. _

_Enough of that now; it was a single, isolated event, as you said, and not worth any more thought from me. The World Cup was about Quidditch, after all—and what an amazing match it was! I suppose I was cheering for the Irish; that's what my friend's entire family was doing, anyway, and I really don't know enough about the professional leagues to do more than go along with my mate's favorites. I'd guess there's a good chance you were cheering for Bulgaria. My friend gave me a book on magical schools for my birthday, and it says that although Durmstrang is probably in northern Sweden or Norway somewhere, that most of the students are from Eastern Europe. I hope you're not as much of a Quidditch fanatic as my best mate, or I may have just ruined our friendship—I swear he would curse my name and disown me if I ever admitted that I don't think much of the Chudley Cannons._

_Whoever you cheered for, though, as a fellow seeker you must admit that Viktor Krum on a broom was a breath-taking sight. The talent is there, of course, and it is clear that he has trained hard with his team. What struck me, though, was the complete and utter look of calm that settled on him whenever he focused solely in on his flight. It was a look of total control—of total freedom—whether he be diving into a feint or chasing after the snitch. I longed for my own broom, watching him. _

_I happened to see him—Krum, that is—right after the match, when he walked up to the announcer's box with his team. I felt sad for him, almost, as strange as that sounds. Not because of how the score ended: he knew his team was out-matched and ended things on his own terms (the twins had actually bet money on the Irish winning but Krum catching the snitch; they really are remarkable). No, I felt sad because I recognized the mask he wore once he left the air, the one that came down to protect 'Viktor' when the rest of the world was clamoring for a piece of 'Viktor Krum – Quidditch Superstar.' Is that presumptuous of me? To think I can read that much in a total stranger? _

_I don't know when your headmaster or headmistress intends to make the announcement, so I hope I am not ruining the surprise, but at the welcome feast tonight Professor Dumbledore told everyone about the Triwizard Tournament. The twins were furious about the age restriction—they'll be only just shy of seventeen—but secretly I'm grateful. People have died in this tournament; personally, I don't quite see why it's back at all, though I understand the letter-exchange assignment much more, now. I suppose for that—if nothing else—I ought to be grateful. _

_It did cross my mind, though… that you might be coming to Hogwarts this year? Durmstrang students interested in entering into the tournament will be arriving later in the term and staying until the final task. While I have no wish to see you put yourself in danger, I can't deny the thought of just seeing you—meeting you—is appealing. _

_Finally, I need to thank you for my gift. I've put it off until the end, because I'm still not sure how to describe how thoughtful and perfect I found it. I can't wait to get out on the pitch, fly my broom, and try out my new present (my friends' mother was paranoid after the World Cup, and kept us in the house—normally, I would have been able to fly there, during my last week of summer). You know, this is the first time that someone has ever tried to help me fight off my nightmares? You really shouldn't have gotten me anything, but… I'm very glad you did. I think you're incredible, Shadow._

_I am looking forward to sharing this friendship with you this year—whether that be in letters or in person._

_Happy start of term! I know I am happy to be home._

_-Survivor _

Harry read it through, and quickly added one last light-hearted line before signing it. He was worried his sentence about friendship was a little too cheesy, but couldn't bring himself to take it off. Despite what he told Sirius, he was getting overly invested in this stranger from Durmstrang, and he knew it. With each letter, he shared a little more and got a little more personal. He only hoped that following his heart (as his mother would have apparently encouraged) was the right thing to do this time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **I'm really quite proud of this story. For something that I started writing on a whim with no real direction in mind, it certainly developed a life of its own. I love the background I've built for Viktor. I enjoy taking the fringe characters JK Rowling created and giving them more complex personalities and histories.

I hope everyone is still enjoying the story, only four more chapters to go after this one!

-Emmette

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT

Viktor was nearly vibrating with energy as he paced through the double room he shared with Emil in Durmstrang's West Tower. He had eagerly handed over his pen-pal's latest letter for his friend to read, and had been more than a little frustrated when, after skimming through the contents once, Emil had merely raised a hand for silence and began slowly and carefully reading it through a second time. Viktor, for all his patience in scanning a Quidditch pitch in search of the golden flash of a snitch, was sure he was going to burst at the seams if Emil didn't say something—anything—very soon.

A small part of him realized he should be feeling guilty, that his pen-pal surely wouldn't have gone on like that about him if he realized he was actually talking _to_ Viktor Krum. Most of him, though, had just fallen a little bit in love. His Survivor had seen him, the real him, underneath his public persona. He had admired not just his talent, but the real joy he felt when flying. He had understood the obsessive need for the freedom that only being on a broom could bring. He had called Viktor breath-taking…

A quiet snort drew him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find Emil watching him and fighting to hold back laughter.

"Why are you laughing?" Viktor asked bewilderedly, halting his nervous pacing abruptly to frown at his friend in concern. With visible effort, Emil got himself back under control, and though he was clearly going for nonchalance, Viktor could still hear the amusement in his voice when he answered.

"Nothing, no reason… I was just thinking that 'smitten' was a good look on you. Sort of like a love-sick puppy…" He trailed off, snickering openly now as he ducked away from the pillow Viktor had pitched at him with a scowl.

"Krum men do not do 'love-sick puppy' looks," he answered with as much dignity as he could muster while fighting off a blush. Emil just chuckled again and patted him on the back.

"You keep telling yourself that, brother." He sobered up then, settling down onto his bed. He crossed his legs, elbows resting on his knees and chin held up on his fists, studying the other man carefully. Viktor, sensing that the conversation had now gone from playful to serious, mirrored the position on his own bed and waited patiently for Emil to gather his thoughts.

"We spoke about many things before returning to school this year, Viktor. You told me how you felt about the Death Eaters we saw at the World Cup, and you told me where you would stand if war returned. Why is it that in all of our conversations you never asked me about my own stance?"

"I know how you feel about fighting and violence. You must know I would never ask you to abandon your morals." The Seeker spoke earnestly, watching his friend closely. He hadn't felt it necessary to ask, if he was being honest. He accepted that for the first time, he was going to have to take a stand without Emil watching his back. He didn't like it, not in the slightest, but he respected the other man and wouldn't dream of trying to change him. Emil, though, had quirked an eyebrow at the response and looked almost tempted to roll his eyes.

"Well that's rather presumptuous of you," he drawled sarcastically. Before Viktor could work out whether to apologize or simple gape at the uncharacteristic attitude, however, Emil had brushed away the comment with a wave of his hand and settled once more into the somber expression that Viktor was familiar with. "You're right, I don't like violence. And—however misguided your assumptions—I am nonetheless honored that you hold my beliefs and choices and such high regard. Standing with you against the type of evil we saw from those Death Eaters though, that is not fighting for sport or glory; that is simply doing what is right. I respect your father's decision to stay neutral in the last war. He had a family depending on him, and he did what he felt was best. I, though, do not have those same responsibilities." He held up a hand when Viktor looked like he wanted to argue, and quickly clarified. "I am not saying I have no family; not only do I still hold some fond feelings for my mother and brothers, however strained those relationships may be, I no longer have any doubt of my place with you and your family. Neither of us are in the same position as Stefan was, though; the safety of our family isn't resting entirely on our shoulders. Other than Stefka, there are no small children to consider, and she has your brother and sister-in-law and see to her safety. If it comes to fighting, I will fight. I will be proud to do so at your side."

"I've no idea how you grew into such a brave, honorable man. I've met your parents, they certainly can't take any credit. Not even my parents can, or I would have turned out much better myself," Viktor answered quietly, watching his best friend with a mix of awe and gratitude.

"Stop," Emil suddenly growled, and Viktor looked at him in surprise. "You always do that; how can you find the good in others and yet be so blind to it in yourself?" He snatched the letter from Viktor's pen-pal off the bed and quickly found the spot he wanted to read. "_I recognized the mask he wore once he left the air, the one that came down to protect 'Viktor' when the rest of the world was clamoring for a piece of 'Viktor Krum – Quidditch Superstar.'_ I will not let you lose yourself in your own masks, Viktor." His expression was fierce, and Viktor, despite the serious moment, could not stop himself from smiling.

"I am very lucky to have you as a friend," he said sincerely. Then, with a smirk, he added, "It's good to see you warming up to my Survivor." Emil scowled at this, though it didn't hold its usual strength. Refusing to admit any such thing, he quickly changed the topic.

"Well, I suppose now we decide whether or not we are entering into this Triwizard Tournament." His tone was light, but his Krum saw the steely determination in his eyes.

"Whether or not _we_ are entering, Todorov?" He asked quietly, well aware that Emil not only hated performing for an audience, but refused to take part in any sort of physical competition, even in martial arts where he was surprisingly skilled. The man was probably the only student ever to make it through a Durmstrang education without either accepting a challenge for a duel or ruining his reputation. He would fight for his friends and he would fight for his life, but he saw nothing to gain from fighting for the sake of fighting, and no amount of peer pressure had ever had him faltering in those ideals. Viktor quite admired him for that.

"Of course 'we'. You already have your Quidditch spotlight; you don't think I'll let you take all the glory without putting up a fight, do you?"

"Emil, you don't have to—"

"Unless you think I'm not capable? Perhaps I'm too much of a weakling to compete in such a tournament?" Viktor gaped at the harsh words when his friend cut him off, purposefully throwing out the insult that the Todorov patriarch had barked at his son so often during their childhood, nearly destroying the young boy's confidence in the process.

"You know I've never—!" This time, he was cut off with a mere look, and Viktor realized the trap Emil had spun. They may both know that Emil was doing this only to ensure that they stayed together in their last year of school, but Viktor couldn't try to change his friend's mind without sounding like an utter prat. Even as he shook his head in exasperation, he couldn't help sending a small smile at his best friend.

"Come," Emil said, standing quickly and effortlessly shifting into 'manager' mode. "Put on your Viktor-Krum-Quidditch-Star face and we'll go get Karkaroff to let us use the floo in his office to contact Stefan and Vladimir. We shouldn't be making decisions like this without discussing them with the family." He stood up and stretched, and Viktor smiled broadly now, knowing that even a few years ago Emil would have had a hard time claiming the Krums as his family, too.

The seeker was drawn from his thoughts by a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and looked up to find his friend gently handing him Survivor's letter.

"I want you to know, Viktor, that no matter how much I worry, I really hope this—whatever this is—works out for you. Whatever happens, whatever you decide to do, I'll be there for you 'till the end." Viktor felt the familiar warmth of love for his best friend bloom up and clasped hands tightly with the other man.

"Brothers until death," he said solemnly, repeating the promise they had made to each other at nine years old, when they had secretly performed a crude 'blood brothers' ritual of their own design.

"Brothers this life and the next," Emil responded immediately, and with one last meaningful nod at each other, Viktor let his public mask come down and they left their room to seek out the headmaster in his private tower…

_Survivor – _

_We, too, were told of the tournament during our first night's dinner. I apologize for the delay in responding to your letter, but I wanted to take some time to seriously consider my participation in this contest, and to get the opinions of my father and brother as well. I have had several chances to speak with my family now, and time to reflect on what I want. Though it may be that nothing comes of it, I have decided to enter. It is my final year at Durmstrang, and I have studied thoroughly. I would be honored to represent my school in such a way. Besides; how could I pass up the opportunity to spend the year earning your friendship in person?_

_You mentioned in a previous letter that you thought you would someday want to tell me who you are. I, too, am ready to let go of the secrecy. I cannot help but worry, though, what you will think of me once my identity is revealed. My best friend tells me I should just tell you my name now, let you get used to the idea before I work myself up over meeting you. Then again, he also says I should make you sign a privacy contract first, so that you can't sell my letters to the media. I am happily ignoring him on both points. He shakes his head and calls me naïve, but somehow I know that even if you end up angry with me, our letters will stay between us. Whatever the outcome, I would like to meet you and introduce myself in person. Will you wait until my arrival at Hogwarts before learning my name?_

_I do not understand how you can speak so lightly of your run-in with the Death Eaters. I know that for some, it is necessary to 'put on a brave face' after such a traumatic event, but that does not seem to be what you are doing. No, with you it is more like you honestly feel that events that night could have been much worse. What have you seen and done in your young life, my little friend, that has left you to see the world through the eyes of an adult when you still ought to be a child? There is so much about you I do not know, and I want to._

_I am sorry to hear about your parents. You told me before that your father died trying to give your mother time to escape with you. You truly are a survivor, aren't you? Like Harry Potter, you are a Boy (or Girl?) Who Lived. The war left so many families in ruins… how anyone can still think that Voldemort was anything more than a murdering bastard, I do not know. Loathe as I am to admit it, I struggled to write his name just now. I do not think you will judge me for it. Your headmaster sound like a wise man. I have of course heard of the great Albus Dumbledore, but your admiration clearly comes from the man himself, and not his accomplishments. He sounds like the kind of leader to truly inspire loyalty. I wish I could say half as much for our own headmaster; to be honest, I think the professors here would fare better simply left alone to lead themselves. It will be a welcome reprieve for the younger students, I am sure, having Karkaroff at Hogwarts all year. _

_I am glad my gift was to your liking. Hopefully you will have the chance to use it soon, I know how eager you must be to get back into the air. I am impressed that you are on a Quidditch team for your school if you are unable to practice during the summers. We must fly together when I arrive at Hogwarts. Will you do me such an honor?_

_I am happy that you are back home, little friend, and with your true family._

_Faithfully Yours,_

_Shadow_

As he finally tied his letter to the snowy owl's leg with great care, Viktor could only grin as the impatient creature nipped at his fingers in annoyance. He knew by now that she would stay with him until he had given her a reply for her owner, but he had never before kept her for so much time and she was clearly less than pleased.

"Shhh, one more moment. Then you may return home. I know I have held you far too long, I apologize." This seemed to appease the ornery owl somewhat, as she stopped hampering his attempts to secure his letter. Not for the first time, he marveled at the intelligence and poise of the remarkable animal. "There you are. Go on, back to Hogwarts now!" Carrying her on his arm to the open window, he gave her a mighty launch and watched as she soared gracefully into the cool night sky.

He felt bad that he had delayed his reply for several weeks, but he hadn't wanted to let the owl leave without an answer to his friend as to whether or not they might meet in person this school year.

Stefan had been very pleased with his son for considering the tournament. It had felt good—more so than he would have imagined—to make his father proud like that. When Vlad had told him privately that Stefan had been unable to speak of anything else for days and had even threatened the rest of the family with a painful death if they let slip how secretly worried he was over his _momchentse_ (baby boy), because he trusted his son to make this important choice on his own with a clear mind… Well, Viktor was sure he would compete over that alone.

What had really taken so much time was his promise to Emil to speak with Milena about his pen-pal before making a final decision. It hadn't been easy to find a time to speak privately with his mother, and when it finally happened, the conversation had been more complicated than he had anticipated.

First, she had been hurt that Viktor had hidden the correspondence from her in the first place. He tried to explain that it was just a school assignment, not worth mentioning, but she wouldn't have it; she insisted that once he felt it was more important than that, he should have brought it up then. "Unless you see this friendship of yours as worth nothing more than a homework grade?" She had asked him, and Viktor, unable to agree, had been forced to apologize.

No sooner had that been settled and Viktor just beginning to describe his new friend than Milena had interrupted to ask after the gender of the writer. Viktor had blinked a few times, staring at her blankly, before awkwardly admitting that he really didn't know. Then it had been his mother's turn to be surprised, for surely it mattered to him if he was developing romantic feelings towards this young person? When he had only blushed and ducked his head, Milena had smiled softly and brushed a hand lovingly over his cheek. "I see. So many secrets from your mother. I wish you would stop that; nothing could ever make me love you less." And so a slightly more emotional Viktor had gone on to tell her all her knew about his little Survivor, and all the things they had shared with each other over the summer.

He had expected his mother to share the same concerns as Emil, and had prepared himself to defend any number of objections: Survivor's age, the hidden identity, the distance, whether or not these feelings were influencing his decision to enter the tournament… In the end, though, Milena had sat quietly with him for a while before asking a single question.

"Do you think you could love this Survivor of yours?" Viktor didn't answer right away. He thought of his mother and father together; Milena, who nearly radiated her love for her family, and Stefan, serious and reserved, who never the less lit up like a chandelier when she walked into the room. He thought of Vladimir and his sister-in-law, Daniela, who had been married for four years and shared a child for two of them, and still gazed into each other's eyes like love-struck teenagers. Then he thought of his pen-pal, and whether or not he could ever feel like that for his new friend—or for anyone at all, really. He smiled.

"I do not love them now, I do not know them enough to love them. But yes, I think someday I could. I want the chance to find out," he answered, gently but confidently.

"Then you had better pack for your trip to Britain, no?" Was his mother's only response, accompanied by a soft kiss to his forehead.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Malfoy is such a turd; even when he's not trying to mess with Harry, he messes with Harry. Sigh. In other news, I'm finally doing my Christmas shopping today (I MIGHT have put off a little late this year).

As for writing a sequel to this story, I am strongly considering one, but will wait and see what everyone thinks of the rest of this story before making a final decision on writing another one. I'm glad people seem to be enjoying it so far! Thanks for reading!

-Emmette

* * *

CHAPTER NINE

Harry Potter settled more comfortably into the Gryffindor stands of the Hogwarts quidditch pitch, contemplating the blank parchment balanced on his lap. Several weeks had passed between sending his last letter to Shadow that first night back to school and finally receiving an answer this morning. He hadn't realized how anxious he had grown waiting for a response until Fred, George, Hermione, and Ginny had all slumped with relief when Hedwig swooped down at breakfast with a letter from his pen-pal. Ron had merely rolled his eyes around a mouthful of egg and sausage, and Harry had grinned sheepishly at his friends even as his excitement left his eyes to sparkle in a way that rivaled Dumbledore's.

Something had shifted in his friendships since the World Cup, or maybe that change had started at the end of the previous school term. Hermione was both as exasperating and as comforting as ever, but there was hesitation in their relationship that hadn't been there the year before. Harry put it down as a side effect of Ron's attitude. The red-head was as friendly as ever, most of the time, but Harry had learned very quickly that this peace would only be kept as long as he remembered all the topics that they Don't Talk About now: Harry's fame, Harry's money, Harry's (in)famous godfather… It made Harry uncomfortable, and put him on edge, like he was back at the Dursleys and forced to be careful about everything he said so he didn't accidentally break the rules. Hermione frowned when it came up, these new unspoken limitations on the Golden Trio's friendship, but she didn't interfere. The others, as far as Harry could tell, hadn't picked up on the change yet, though Ginny would narrow her eyes every once in a while when conversation lagged awkwardly in order to avoid 'forbidden' subjects.

On the other hand, Harry's relationships with other Weasleys had flourished. He had been delighted to finally meet Bill and Charlie when he at arrived at the burrow. The oldest Weasley children certainly had the 'cool-factor' going for them. Harry had been more than a little amused when Bill had actually blushed at his profuse thanks for his spell-work on the vanishing chests. The curse-breaker had finally slapped a friendly hand on Harry's shoulders and told him not to worry about it before heading into the kitchen with some mumbled excuse about helping Molly prepare dinner. At the time, Harry hadn't realized that his flinch and quick gasp of pain had been noticed by the older man. Instead, he had been busy introducing himself to Charlie, whose eyes had been dancing with amusement at his older brother's discomfort. Harry had asked after Norbert, the young dragon Charlie had helped them rescue from Hagrid first year, and had been amused and fascinated with the stories about _Norberta_. Charlie seemed surprised—but pleased—with the genuine interest Harry showed, and the two of them had ended up spending several hours wandering around the back garden talking about dragons and doing odd repair and gardening jobs for Mrs. Weasley. Charlie, used to working long hours out in the sun of the reserve, had been startled when Bill finally tracked them down for dinner. Harry had simply smiled, thanked Charlie for the stories, and slipped away to wash up for the meal. Unbeknownst to Harry, the dragon keeper was shocked to realize that Harry hadn't complained once in several hours of heat and hard work. He shared a significant look with Bill, and the two knew they would be talking more later.

The next time Harry spent any time with them, another nightmare had woken him in the middle of the night and, finding Ron snoring quietly on the other side of the room, Harry had decided to get up and find a glass of water. He had been surprised when he stumbled into the living room to find Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George all whispering quietly together. He stammered out an apology for interrupting, but the twins had jumped up and pulled him over to their little circle before he could retreat back upstairs. They softly explained that they had to be quiet or Mrs. Weasley would come down and send them all off to bed, regardless of age. Harry smiled at this, and cautiously sat down to listen to the four brothers laughing and joking with each other. He didn't contribute much to the conversation himself, but quickly relaxed into the warmth of the moment, cheek resting on his knees while he smiled softly at their antics.

By the time Bill and Charlie started coaxing stories of his summer and then earlier years at the Dursleys from him—just tiny pieces at a time—Harry was much more loose and talkative than usual, something the Weasleys were hoping to take full advantage of. In all honestly, though, he hadn't given away much. If not for the conversation Bill and Charlie had already had with the twins (who in their right mind thinks it's safe to send a child back to a house where they've put bars on his window?!), they probably wouldn't even have noticed how much Harry revealed simply by what he _didn't_ share: there were no stories about friends, none of memories with his relatives, and nothing about trips or holidays. As Harry began to drift off to sleep, Bill and Charlie excused themselves with pointed looks at the twins, who pretended not to notice that the footsteps stopped just around the corner before they woke Harry and began plying him with the nutrient potions and other basic first aid salves they had prepared.

Harry had reassured them that he was alright, that things weren't 'that bad' with his relatives, and after seeing the minimal damage from Harry's fat cousin Fred and George were forced to concede the point. They still found him too skinny, though, and told Harry in no uncertain terms that while things could be worse, the way Harry was treated over the summer wasn't okay. They got him to admit to as much as possible, knowing their brothers were listening from the hallway, but there wasn't much anyone could do. Harry was unloved back 'home', and arguably neglected, but certainly not to the point that anyone would remove the Boy-Who-Lived from his only living family. With heavy hearts, they sent their young friend back up to bed, and watched solemnly as Bill and Charlie snuck back in with sad expressions and head shakes. There was no way to for them to interfere, as much they may want to.

Harry, for his part, was blissfully unaware of the readheads' concerns. He didn't question Fred and George's new protective streak, simply basked in the warmth of people looking out for him. He spent as much time as possible with Bill and Charlie the rest of the time they were at the Burrow after the World Cup, happily helping Charlie with chores outside or Bill with his new project to clean and sort through decades worth of junk in the Burrow's attic when it meant positive attention and respect from adults in his life. Ginny would join him occasionally, wanting to spend time with her brothers, though she would quickly grow bored with the work and eventually wander off. Fred and George always stopped in to check on them every hour or two, though they stayed even more rarely than Ginny. More often than not, they had spent the last bit of summer holed up in their room, the rest of the family steadfastly ignoring the various booms and crashes that shook through the house. Harry hadn't been sure whether to be amused or alarmed, and in the end settled for politely weary, careful to give that particularly doorway a wide berth whenever passing it.

Now, back at school, Harry was pleased that those connections continued. It had become habit for Harry to exchange little bits of correspondence with Bill and Charlie at the end of their letters with Ginny (she had always been far better than her brothers at staying in touch with their older siblings during the school year), and Fred and George had emerged from the dorm room they shared with Lee Jordan to spend at least one evening a week with Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room since summer ended. Even Ginny was more pleasant to be around, her crush finally having eased away during the long hours spent with Harry and her brothers at the end of the summer, teased like a baby sister by all of them equally.

Honestly, if it weren't for Harry's strained friendship with Ron, he would be feeling thrilled. In fact, if you didn't count quidditch being cancelled for the year due to the tournament and Mad-Eye Moody's intimidating presence and penchant for teaching the Unforgivables during class, Harry thought the year had started off quite well: he wasn't terrified of being told he wasn't really a wizard after all, like in first year; he wasn't hearing a disembodied voice intent on murder, like in second year; and he wasn't surrounded by dementors and believing a mass murderer was after him, like last year. All in all, he was rather pleased.

Thus, he had snuck off to the solitude of the quidditch pitch to write his reply to Shadow, knowing that Harry's excitement over his friendship with his pen-pal was quickly becoming another sore spot for Ron, and not wanting to risk starting another fight like the beginning of the summer.

_Dear Shadow,_

_I would also prefer to introduce myself properly in person; I don't mind waiting. _

_The twins tried to seem only happy for me when I told them you would be at Hogwarts this year, but I can tell that they are worried. I can't really blame them; trouble does seem to find me wherever I go. I wonder, will your best friend be coming with you? You mentioned him (you have referred to him as 'he,' so I am pretty confident in this guess) several times, and I imagine he is feeling just as defensive of you as the twins are of me. _

_Speaking of gender guesses, I am male (hopefully this doesn't disappoint you). I had left that detail purposefully out of my first letter, not sure how much to reveal, and I suppose I just didn't think of it after that. You, of course, said you and your brother acted somewhat like uncle and nephew, so I had drawn my own conclusions. It's funny, really; I feel as though I know you rather well, and yet we really know so little about each other. Hopefully this year will change that?_

_I have been out to the Quidditch pitch several times, now, and your gift is truly beautiful. I have taken your advice, and activate it when I get into bed. The little bobbing light is soothing, even if it is difficult to see without my glasses. I think, though, that it is more the thought that you wished to help keep the nightmares away that is helping me sleep. As for flying with you, I can hardly wait. If you'll trust me to guide you, I'd like to take you over the lake rather than out to the pitch, at least our first time flying together. I'll finally know if you are really as good a flyer as you claim!_

_You mentioned once that you wanted to hear about how I learned I was a wizard, and I know how patient you have tried to be with all my secrets. I don't think it's the most exciting story, but I'd like to share it with you._

_As you know, I grew up with muggle relatives who do not like magic. I was told that my parents died in a car crash when I was a baby, and I never knew the magical world existed. Looking back, the signs seem so obvious; my accidental magic especially. One time, I ended up on the school roof while trying to run away from my cousin and his friends. Another time, my aunt gave me the most hideous haircut, and I was mortified at the thought of showing up at school the next day. I needn't have worried; by the time I woke up, all my hair had grown back to its normal length. I had always been taught that magic wasn't real, however, and with the punishments my magic brought me, I learned to dread those unexplainable events nearly as much as my relatives did._

_I am not sure how it is done at Durmstrang, but new Hogwarts students receive a magically addressed acceptance letter by owl around the time they turn eleven. My uncle, recognizing the school's emblem, took my letter from me before I could open it and destroyed it. He thought that would be the end of it. Little did he know, the school holds magical records of whether or not a student has read their letter. All week, more and more letters came every day; hidden in my aunt's milk bottles, slipped under the front door, every way imaginable, until finally at least a hundred letters came pelting out of the fireplace. Hogwarts was nothing if not insistent!_

_My uncle panicked. I learned later that he and my aunt had sworn to 'stamp the magic out of me' when they took me in. He dragged all of us out to the car and drove to a tiny hotel in the middle of nowhere. The next morning, a sack full of letters was waiting. Now he was desperate, and after a day of reckless driving in an attempt to lose anyone following us, he parked on the edge of a putrid little lake and took us to a tiny, dilapidated island shack by way of a leaky little rowboat. The whole thing was rather comical, looking back on it, but more than a little unsettling at the time, given I had no idea what was happening. It was my birthday the following day, and that night as I lay on a dirty wooden floor with a single thin blanket, I watched my cousin's watch to count down the seconds to turning eleven. Just as midnight struck, Hagrid—keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts, a half-giant, and now a dear friend—bashed the rotting door in off its hinges with the power of his knock. The school had finally decided to send someone to deliver my letter in person. _

_Hagrid was the one to tell me I was a wizard (convince me, really, because I was so sure that I wasn't special enough to be magic). He told me about my parents, about our world. The next morning he took me get my school things, and it was the first time I had ever been around other witches and wizards—first time I saw a flying broom, as well, in the window of a Quidditch shop. My first birthday cake (slightly squished, Hagrid had brought it in a coat pocket after all); my first birthday present… that would be Hedwig, the beautiful snowy owl who has been visiting you all summer. It was a day full of firsts. _

_I guess it wasn't such a great story, but it was one of the happiest days of my life, and I wanted you to know about it. I wanted you to know that I trusted you with it, and that I have just as much to lose by telling you who I really am, but I'm not going to change my mind. I want you to know me, the real me. And I want to know you._

_Do you know when you will be arriving at Hogwarts? I hope it's soon._

_-Survivor_

He re-read his letter critically. He found it easier to open up after the time he spent talking with Ron's siblings during his stay at the Burrow, but he was still nervous. Would Shadow laugh at how ignorant and naïve he had been? Would he be bored with the story? What would he think when he found out who Harry was, and that he had had a childhood like that? For a moment, Harry considered ripping the parchment up and not sending the letter, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. He thought back to Shadow's last letter, where he had called Voldemort by name, and admitted his fear in doing so, all because Harry had said he felt it was the right thing to do. He wanted to know who his pen-pal was, wanted to meet them, to see what kind of friendship they might build at Hogwarts this year.

The sound of voices pulled Harry's attention back to the pitch in front of him, and he just barely managed to contain a groan as Draco Malfoy strutted onto the field with Theodore Nott, and Crabbe and Goyle trudging after them. Harry swiftly and silently rolled to land lightly on toes and fingertips behind the bench in front of him as though preparing to do a push-up. He twisted around until he was resting, hidden, on his back, and placed his hands behind his head, resigned to laying there until the Slytherins had once again vacated the pitch.

If he angled himself just right, Harry could peer through a crack between the wooden slats and see as Draco and Theodore darted across the skies, passing a quaffle back and forth between them, while Crabbe and Goyle circled clumsily around them, scowling around as though deterring any of the non-existent spectators from posing a threat. Harry rolled his eyes, but stilled when Draco's voice floated out over the crisp morning air.

"…a matter of discretion, really. Father says it's the sort of demeaning behavior that a Malfoy man would never dream lower himself to, but there's no reason I should cut ties with Blaise over it. I mean, who he wants to drop his pants for in privacy has no bearing on my life, certainly. But it was really quite thoughtless to get caught with another man before his parents had secured him a betrothal contract, it will be significantly more difficult now. He's intelligent and fit enough that he probably could have married a witch of even higher status, especially if father and I agreed to endorse him. The Malfoys will have to stay out of the whole business now, of course; can't risk anyone thinking that _I'm_ a poof! Just _what_ Zabini was thinking…"

"You've heard the story; it sure didn't sound like he was trying very hard not to get caught," Nott responded, grunting softly when Malfoy threw the quaffle with unnecessary force in silent retaliation for the interruption.

"What are you saying? That he was trying to blow his chances with a betrothal contract?"

"Well if he truly doesn't prefer the company of the ladies, he may not want—"

"It hardly matters, he's a pureblood: it's his duty to marry a pureblood witch and produce pureblood heirs. If he needs to have his perverted little affairs on the side that's his prerogative, but it will never be more than that. Being a homosexual may not be reason for getting shunned from social circles, but if he were to actually try a _relationship_ with another wizard…" Draco's voice trailed off in disgust as the boys drifted further down the pitch in their game of catch, their words no longer distinct enough to pick apart.

Harry was frowning now, and shifted uncomfortably where he lay hidden in the stands. Uncle Vernon used to sneer at the telly when a gay person was in a show or on the news, saying they were sick and unnatural, but Harry had never heard anything one way or another in the wizarding world. Malfoy and Nott weren't calling for tar or pitchforks over their roommate's apparent orientation, but they certainly didn't sound pleased with it either. Was that how everyone in the magical world felt about it? Would Sirius and the Weasleys feel that way? Harry felt his chest tighten painfully, thinking about the way his stomach had fluttered around Oliver Wood last year, of the way he had watched Bill Weasley out of the corner of his eye when he'd pause in his work in the attic to stretch out tight muscles, his shirt riding up to show a little trail of dark red hair over the bottom of his stomach, disappearing below his trousers…

Harry bit his lip and shook his head to banish the image. It didn't mean anything, he was just young and curious. It's not like he had ever had crush on a boy, just… watched a few of them. Not that he had ever had a crush on a girl, either…

Harry realized the there was silence in the pitch once more, and cautiously leaned up to peek over the bench, relieved to find that the Slytherins had left while he was deep in thought. His mind was spinning, caught between confusion, fear, and an odd sort of guilt. Standing quickly, Harry headed out of the stands and began a brisk walk towards the owlery. He would send his letter off to Shadow, and then he'd write a note to Sirius, telling him about the conversation he overheard and just wait to see what his godfather said. There was no reason he had to mention any of his own thoughts or feelings on the matter…


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Well, getting this posted later in the day than I would have preferred, but still the day I promised none-the-less. And on the plus side, I spent tons of time with my little sisters AND all of my gifts are wrapped and under the tree, so if nothing else I got major big-sibling points today.

On an entirely unrelated note, but one I think some of you will be able to sympathize with me on... last night I asked my mother where I might find a copy of the fourth Harry Potter book in the house (since I am strongly considering working on a sequel to this story and wanted to re-read it, at least starting after the champions are chosen). After a moment of thoughtful contemplation, she informed me it was possible that it was one of the books holding up my parents' bed frame. After a rescue mission crawling around on my stomach under their bed to retrieve not one but _three_ Harry Potter books, I can honestly say that a little piece of me died inside. It was just wrong, on so many levels... -shudder-

Only two more chapters left! And Harry, at least, now knows who his pen-pal is! What do you guys think? Are you anxious for the ending...?

Thanks for reading!

-Emmette

* * *

CHAPTER TEN

Harry looked around at the crowd of students awaiting the arrival of the foreign schools one more time before pulling Shadow's last letter out of his robes and reading it again.

_Dear Survivor,_

_Karkaroff announced it today; we will arrive at Hogwarts on the 30__th__ of October. It is hardly more than a week away now, and I am sure you will receive this letter with only a few days to spare. I am not a nervous man, my friend; I do not get anxious like this, ever, and yet I can hardly keep still to write to you, such are my nerves over our meeting. You have an uncanny ability to keep me on my toes. I am counting on it being a pleasant distraction during a year without Quidditch._

_My best friend will indeed by joining me. He is not the spotlight type, and though he has repeatedly denied it, I am quite sure he is only entering into the tournament so that he can accompany me to Hogwarts. He is a brave and loyal friend, who has been by my side since we were children. He is fierce in his determination to look out for me, but somehow I doubt it will take you long to win him over. _

_It is maddening, I'll have you know, trying to figure out who you might be. A boy of fourteen at Hogwarts, this is all you have given me. Who are you, that you felt the need to conceal your identity in an exchange of letters with a foreign school? As for your question, I am not in the least disappointed you are male. Relieved, actually, would be the appropriate word. I had assumed—perhaps hoped—from your correspondence, but did not wish to make you uncomfortable were I mistaken. I am not terribly at ease interacting with women; it is far too much work, and most often unsatisfying._

_I am honored by your trust, my friend, in sharing your story with me. I wonder if you've any idea how remarkable you are, not to have grown bitter and resentful with the luck (of lack of) you have had in life. I hope you know that whatever happens with this friendship, the secrets you have shared are safe with me. _

_I tried to choose a story of my own to share with you, but there is not one with the right meaning, the right exchange. Instead, I offer you this: When the Durmstrang students arrive at Hogwarts, we will be in full formal uniform, including—for those of us training in martial arts—our staffs. Mine will have a red feather tied to the top, in honor of the phoenix who healed you. I will let you choose whether or not to reveal yourself to me. Give me a red feather of your own to add to mine, and I will know you are truly my little survivor. You have the power here, little friend. I return your trust._

_May our next words be shared off of parchment, at last._

_Faithfully,_

_Shadow_

Harry sighed and shifted restlessly. He had been standing outside in the throng of students for an hour now, and there hadn't been a single sign yet of either rival school. A childhood in a cupboard hadn't prepared him for crowds, and on top of his anxiety over meeting his pen-pal for the first time and his nerves after the note from his godfather that morning, he was quickly reaching the end of his control. Therefore, he was rather proud of himself when George came away with only a slight bloody nose after swinging an arm around Harry's shoulders from behind with no warning.

"Shit, sorry, I'm sorry!" Harry babbled, dabbing at the small drip of blood on George's lip with his sleeve.

"So sneaking up on you, not one of our better ideas," Fred mused mildly, looking torn between laughing at his twin and giving him a sympathetic look.

"Apparently not," Harry grimaced. I'm really, _really_, s—"

"You albeady dold be you're thorry," George mumbled through his bleeding nose, waving his free hand to emphasize to his young friend that there were no hard feelings.

"Feeling a little stressed, then?" Fred cut in smoothly, tentatively placing his own arm around Harry's shoulders, careful to let the smaller boy see exactly what he was doing this time.

"You have no idea," Harry sighed, leaning against the red-head just a little, basking in the warmth and comfort as much as he would allow himself. Fred just smiled down at him and tightened his grip.

"So dell us," George encouraged, "Amd you, fith thith!" He snapped as Fred started chuckling again.

"Yeah yeah, I'll fix it. C'mere." He began waving his wand around his twin's nose while Harry, thankful that they weren't focused solely on him, answered quietly.

"I think… Snuffles… is coming back."

"Back? Wait, back here, like to Scotland? Is he mental, why?!"

"I think he's worried about me, or angry, or… I dunno. I was stupid, said some things in my last letter, and he… he just said 'we need to talk' and I haven't heard from him since then." Harry was still looking anywhere but at his friends while he spoke, and by the end his arms had wrapped around himself in a protective way.

"What did you say to him?"

"…Harry?" Both twins were watching him with concerned expressions, their little seeker friend staring down at his feet now with a pained expression.

"You might as well tell us…"

"…or we'll just trick it out of you…"

"…if you try to be difficult." Harry tried to scowl at them, but it dropped quickly back into a forlorn look. Slowly, silently, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the note that Sirius had sent back to him through their boxes.

_Dear Sirius,_

_I overheard a strange conversation the other day, and it left me wondering  
some things about the wizarding world. The person I heard talking had found  
out that one of their friends was, er, gay. He didn't seem very happy about it.  
He also made it sound like it would be even worse if his friend was in an actual  
relationship with another man, instead of just… well, sleeping with one. I  
guess I didn't really understand that. Mind you, they're both purebloods, so  
maybe it's just a weird pureblood thing? The whole thing just made me realize  
I've never actually heard anyone in the wizarding world talk about their opinion  
on wizards and wizards or witches and witches being together. It's not a big  
deal or anything, I'm just curious. You know, curious about the wizarding  
world thinks about it. And… what you think about it. Just out of curiosity.  
Miss you!_

_-Harry_

And, scribbled on the bottom of the page in Sirius's hand-writing, "_We need to talk._"

Fred and George exchanged a knowing look then each took one of Harr's arms and started dragging him away to a corner of the courtyard.

"Now now…"

"…no use in struggling…"

"…it won't work, first of all…"

"…and we'll make sure you're back…"

"…for Durmstrang arriving." The twins tutted at him as he tried to twist free from their grip, hissing under his breath for them to let him go. When they finally had him blocked into a secluded alcove, They stepped shoulder-to-shoulder and crossed their arms with uncharacteristically serious expressions.

"Okay Harry, where is all this coming from?"

"Did that Durmstrang 'friend' of yours tell you this?" Harry could only stare at them. He had heard the twins nervous, even skeptical about Shadow, but this was the first time their tones had turned hostile.

"What? No, Shadow had nothing to do with… I mean, would it be so bad if he did?" He crossed his own arms, trying to sound nonchalant even as his heart hammered.

"Of course it—"

"—would be a problem, Harry!"

"Look, we're not going to tell you—"

"—who you can be friends with, but—"

"—don't expect us to be happy about it—"

"—if you're pals with someone like _that_."

"Right, I _get_ it, gay is bad, keep the gay away from you, noted!" Harry snarled suddenly, and went to shove past the twins. He managed to knock their arms out of the way and take a couple of steps, but his shoulders were quickly caught and he was steered back into the little nook they were standing in.

"Whoa, Harry…"

"…that's not it, mate."

"We don't have a problem with someone being gay…"

"…we have a problem with someone judging other people…"

"…for being gay," they explained quickly.

"We should have explained better."

"We didn't mean to upset you." Harry looked from one earnest expression to the other and back again, then finally slumped back against the wall, all the fight draining out of him.

"It wasn't Shadow," he repeated stubbornly, looking down at a loose thread on his robes and picking at it distractedly.

"Okay, Harry…"

"…we believe you. Want to tell us…"

"…who brought this all up then?"

"Malfoy," Harry said quietly, and repeated the conversation he had heard at the pitch. "…and I realized I had no idea if things were different here than in the muggle world. My uncle… well, he's never had anything positive to say on the topic, that's for sure." Fred and George had shifted around to lean comfortably against the wall on either side of him while he was talking, and George reached over to rub his back while Fred turned to look at him seriously.

"There's nothing wrong with it, Harry. Some of the pureblood families still get bent out of shape over it, mostly because they don't want to risk not having a blood heir for the family, and obviously two men or two women can't have a kid together. But the rest of our world doesn't care. Hell, same-sex bonding—"

"—that's like marriages in the muggle world—" George added,

"—have been legally accepted for hundreds of years."

"Harry… is there any reason you were so curious about the subject?" George asked quietly, and immediately all the good Fred's explanation had done for Harry's nerves was wiped away as he suddenly found himself tensing up all over again, not at all prepared to tell Fred and George about his new confusing thoughts… even if they did _seem_ like they may not mind…

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Fred said gently, the silence having stretched on longer than Harry realized. "You tell us when you're ready."

"And in the mean time…" George added, voice chipper and full of mischief once again.

"…why don't you let is on your plan…"

"…to figure out who this Shadow character is!"

xXxXxXxXx

The Beauxbatons students had just disappeared inside the castle, Hagrid was seeing to the giant winged horses with obvious delight, and Harry's nerves nearly had him trembling.

Ron and Hermione had come out and joined them just before Madame Maxine's carriage flew through the sky ("Really, Harry," Hermione had huffed with an affectionate eye-roll. "The notice said they would be arriving at six o'clock, why you insisted on spending half the afternoon out here…), and Hermione was currently reciting facts Harry recognized from the _Magically Elite_ book she had gotten him for his birthday. Ron was rolling his eyes and generally ignoring her. Despite his friends' presence, however, Fred and George were never far away. Each time Harry thought he might buckle under the anxiety, there'd be a playful elbow to the ribs, a grin, and a wink.

Harry glanced back at the enormous, powder-blue carriage. He remembered Mr. Weasley explaining at the World Cup how magic folk couldn't help but show off when they got together. It seemed rather silly to Harry; surely a portkey would have been much more convenient. Besides, the giant horses and giant carriage were hardly necessary to impress the students of Hogwarts: the headmistress herself would have done a fine job of it all on her own. Matched in size only by Hagrid, carrying herself with a regal air and draped in black satin and gleaming opals, her transportation was dim in comparison. Once the applause had started for her and her dozen shivering pupils, however, the spell had been broken and Harry had lost interest in favor of searching grounds and skies alike in anticipation for Durmstrang's arrival.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was likely a mere ten minutes later, the students' attention was drawn as one towards an eerie squelching sound from the Black Lake, which quickly grew in volume and developed into a sloshing, rumbling tempest of noise. All it once, it died down to reveal what harry could only describe as a pirate ship rising out of a whirlpool at the edge of the lake. With one last splash and a forceful surge, the ship was left fully emerged, bobbing gently on the surface of the lake. There was a gentle gliding motion while the ship approached the bank, before a _plop_ announced an anchor being cast and a long, thin plank was being lowered onto the shore. Within moments, roughly twenty, fur-clad men and women were descending from the ship and approaching the waiting students, all of whom appeared older than even the seventh-years at Hogwarts, though Harry reasoned that this could have something to do with the added bulk that the thick furs gave them, or the serious expressions that rested on all of their faces.

"Dumbledore!" A man in silvery furs who was leading the silent procession broke the silence, raising his arms in greeting as the two headmasters reached one another. Harry didn't pay much attention to their conversation, too busy straining his eyes for any details from the students, all of them hanging back slightly from the school leaders and staying huddled in a close group. It wasn't until he gestured one of the students forward into the light from the castle doors that Harry tuned back in again.

"…good old Hogwarts… Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…" A dark, solemn youth whom Harry recognized from the World Cup approached with obvious reluctance, followed immediately by a slim, relaxed companion. Karkaroff frowned slightly at the second boy, but he gave no indication that he had noticed his headmaster's disapproval, and when Krum scowled in response, the man quickly turned away without comment. Beside Harry, he could hear Ron freaking out and whispering furiously with Hermione. Harry, though, didn't need Ron's pointed nudge to recognize the amazing quidditch player in front of him. Besides, Harry had bigger things on his mind than whether or not he thought Krum would find it insulting to sign one of Ron's Chudley Cannons posters: tied securely to the seeker's sturdy staff, fluttering in the breeze, was a bright red feather.

Shadow was Viktor Krum.

"Blimey Harry…" George whispered weakly from one side.

"…you don't do things by halves, do you?" Fred finished in awe, a hand resting supportively on his other shoulder, even as both twins looked down at him with matching shocked expressions. Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** Merry Christmas Eve! Enjoy the second-to-last chapter, the ficlet is almost at an end! I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you felt like sending a little gifty my way in the form of a review. Oh, and enjoy your holiday!

-Emmette

* * *

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Try as he might, Harry couldn't keep his eyes from straying over to where the Durmstrang students sat with the Slytherins at dinner that night. At least, he couldn't keep his eyes away once Fred and George had finally talked him into braving the Great Hall in the first place.

"_I can't show my face in there!"_

"_Harry, you're being stupid; he doesn't even know who you are."_

"_I called him breath-taking! To his face!"_

"_Well, technically you haven't told him anything to his face. The whole pen-pal thing you know…"_

"_I'm being serious!"_

"_I thought Padfoot was Sirius. Aren't you Survivor? Now I'm confused."_

"_That joke wasn't funny the first time."_

"_No really Harry, it's not like you're the only one; you told us he compared you to the Boy-  
Who-Lived once."_

"_Well yeah, but—"_

"_And he did name you Survivor. Are you really telling me that you never stopped to appreciate the irony of the Boy-Who-Lived being nick-named Survivor?"_

"…_Er, no, actually. Okay that's actually a little amusing."_

The cajoling and coaxing had gone on for nearly a quarter hour but the twins had finally convinced him to go in for dinner. He was sitting across from them now, Ron and Hermione on either side of him, but he hadn't been able to do much more than poke his food from one side of his plate to the other, so distracted was he by a certain surly seeker.

Then again, after watching him surreptitiously for most of dinner, he had his doubts about the surly bit. Sure, he slouched and scowled at nearly everyone in sight, but Harry had spied him biting back smirks and smiles several times when the thin boy with him leaned forward to whisper in his ear, and Harry was beginning to wonder if this was the best friend he had spoken of. What was more, although all older students had been turned away with a glare when approaching him for autographs and other attention, Harry had noticed he took care to shake hands or pat shoulders of the youngest students who were brave enough to approach him, and he had even smiled at two shy little Hufflepuff first years.

In fact, Harry was pretty sure that under his bristly mask, Krum was just a big softie. _But I already knew that Shadow was sweet_, Harry reminded himself, and he had a thoughtful expression the next time he glanced at the Durmstrang students.

"Ah, now that's a much better…"

"…look on you," the twins whispered warmly, jarring Harry from his thoughts. His head whipped around to find them leaning across the table to speak as quietly with him as possible. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"We were starting to wonder…"

"…if your Gryffindor bravery…"

"…had left you for good!" With matching winks, the twins simultaneously slid a hand across the table, and Harry looked down to see that they were pushing a bright red feather towards him. Torn between gratitude and exasperation, Harry quickly slipped it off the table and into a pocket, not wanting to have to explain it to anyone at the table. He tried to glare at them, but by their matching smug expressions he assumed his blush ruined it a bit. Luckily for him, Dumbledore finally chose that moment to stand and welcome the guests before bringing out the Goblet of Fire and explaining how to enter the tournament.

_At least everyone will only have until tomorrow to angst over who will be chosen, _Harry mused. _Although I'm still a little fuzzy as to what would be appealing about entering this tournament at all… _He must have said this last bit out loud, because Ron was suddenly paying attention to him rather than his food for the first time that evening.

"Don't see the appeal?! Only a thousand galleons and eternal glory, that's all! Blimey, I wish younger years could enter! You can't tell me you wouldn't enter if you could, Harry, you're like the ultimate Gryffindor!" The young seeker shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of many of his housemates, Ron's words having drawn their attention.

"I don't think it's about being Gryffindor or not, Ron. This tournament is really dangerous—life-threateningly dangerous. I don't think anyone but a fully trained wizard has any business entering. Besides, I really have no desire to risk my life for _any_ amount of money or glory."

"What are you talking about? What about going after the stone first year, or saving Gin from the basilisk second year? Or last year, when—"

"That was different Ron!" Harry snapped, annoyed that his friend was about to mention something about his rescue mission for Sirius. "I didn't feel like I had any other options then, at least not without risking someone else's life." He was trying to keep his voice as soft as possible, and was growing increasingly frustrated with the red-head for pushing this conversation in front of an audience. He vaguely recognized that Dumbledore was excusing everyone from dinner, but he was mostly focused on Ron's scowling pout.

"Sure, famous Harry Potter has to play hero; not like you have enough attention as it is." In Ron's defense, it was said so quietly that Harry was pretty sure no one—including him—was actually meant to hear it, but it hurt like a kick to the chest nonetheless. Harry stood suddenly, reaching down to feel the soft tendrils of the feather in his pocket. Ron's insecurities had been one of his biggest concerns when he realized he had been writing to Viktor Krum all summer. He knew his friend would be jealous, and start to worry that he would be replaced by the famous seeker simply because he was so well-known. Suddenly, none of that felt like a valid reason not to tell Shadow—Viktor—who he was.

With a determined look, Harry strode away from the Gryffindor table to slip out of the Great Hall after the procession of Durmstrang students. They may have a head start, but he knew the secret passage-ways of Hogwarts. If he stayed focused, he should be able to reach the castle doors first…

He didn't notice the wide grin Fred and George shared behind his back.

xXxXxXxXx

For once, Viktor's sour expression was entirely genuine. Emil had been trying to prepare him for several days now for the fawning and attention he was sure to receive at Hogwarts. Having already been well-known at Durmstrang before reaching celebrity status, and after years for his classmates to get used to it, however, Viktor had underestimated how extensive the hero-worship would be at the foreign school. Add to that how distracted he had been over finally meeting his pen-pal, and the seeker could admit that he hadn't paid nearly as much attention to his friend as he should have. He was paying for it now.

He had thought the staring and whispering and sucking up during dinner had been bad; nothing could have prepared him from the _mobbing_ he had received when he and his classmates exited the hall. Emil and others had resorted to holding their staffs out like barriers to keep students back as they slowly pushed their way through the throng. Viktor's had been snatched from him at one point, but luckily Emil was pressing it back into his hands almost immediately (not that he had any idea how his friend had gotten ahold of it so quickly—the whole mess had been such a blur).

Finally, some of the Hogwarts professors had come out and realized what was happening. The fierce Scottish woman in particular had been livid at her students' behavior, and in short order the Hogwarts students were detained allowing the Durmstrang delegation to slip away towards the front doors. On top of it, he had spent the entire disastrous meal glancing all around the hall for any sign of his mysterious pen-pal. He had tied the red feather prominently onto his staff, just like he promised. The only reason he could think that Survivor hadn't approached him yet was that he had seen who he was and decided he no longer wanted to be friends. Emil frowned at him every time those thoughts entered his mind, as though he could somehow read the negativity on his friend's mind, but he couldn't help it. All things told, he was in a foul mood. It was for this reason that by the time a small, dark-haired boy caught up to them at the castle entrance and tentatively called his name, Viktor was entirely out of patience.

"What?!" He snarled, spinning around to face the lone teenager with a scowl. Were he in a better mood, he probably would have noticed the anxious, guarded look or the flash of hurt in the bright green eyes. Instead, he merely glared harder when he didn't get an immediate answer.

"I-I'm sorry to bother you, I—" Harry took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, forcing down the stammer. "I thought you might want this." With that, he pulled the red feather from his pocket and handed it over with a hopeful expression. Viktor, seeing the feather, felt his heart hammer with excitement for just a moment. One glance at his staff, though—the staff with no feather tied to it—left him feeling crushed and empty. This wasn't his survivor; this was just another fan who had seen his feather fall off and used it as an excuse to talk to the Famous Viktor Krum. He sneered at the smaller boy, ignoring the sudden wide eyes and frantic head-shaking from Emil on the other side of the throng of Durmstrang students.

"Oh? And why would I want anything from you?" He gave Harry an unimpressed once over with his eyes, knowing deep down that he was being unnecessarily cruel but hurting enough to lash out anyway. When the boy in front of him went deathly pale and the determined set to his shoulders slumped away in defeat, Viktor felt his guilt like a punch to the stomach. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the boy had turned and fled, disappearing behind a tapestry against the wall. Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was just about to ask Emil to turn in early with him when something hard slammed into his chest, leaving him breathless, and he opened his eyes to find the man in question glaring inches from his face.

"Krum, you moron!" Viktor couldn't keep his mouth from hanging open as he realized Emil had just knocked the wind out of him with his staff. "Our staffs got switched when we were getting mobbed by your fans; I hadn't had a chance to swap back," he snarled.

With a sinking heart, Krum saw that the staff still pressed against his bruising chest had a red feather tied to it. Hand trembling, Viktor lifted up the red feather that had just been handed to him, holding the two next to each other.

"Moron does not even begin to cover it," he agreed, head hanging in shame as he tried to figure out how he could fix this. Even when Emil took pity on him and began steering him back towards the ship, he couldn't get the look of betrayal and defeat in bright green eyes out of his mind.

xXxXxXxXx

"This is a terrible plan, even for you," Emil griped for the fifth time, but kept following Viktor as they crept through the deserted halls of Hogwarts.

"Shhh. And no one made you come with me," Viktor hissed back, rolling his eyes at the predictable circle of their argument as he hesitantly peeked around another corner before slipping around and creeping down yet another stone passageway. The place was enormous, and—loathe though he was to admit that Emil might have been right about the flaws in his plan—even he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever find the owlery.

"What's this?" A deep voice from behind them had both young men freezing, Viktor with a nervous wince, and Emil with a quiet sigh of resignation. The last thing Viktor had been expecting when he turned around, however, was a ghost in ruffled clothing, floating a few feet above the ground with hands clasped behind his back and watching the two of them with a pleasantly curious expression.

"Erm, my name is Viktor Krum, sir, and this is my friend, Emil Todorov." Emil sent him a brief glare at this, but then rolled his eyes and stepped up next to his friend in silent support. "We're Durmstrang students, and we were hoping to find the school's owlery…" He trailed off, uncertain what else he should say if it would make any difference.

"Krum? Ah yes, one of the champions. While I must say that the middle of the night may not be the best of times to search out the owlery, I can understand why you might need to send off a missive this night." He paused then, gazing thoughtfully down the corridor as though lost in thought. Viktor shifted uncomfortably and was about to say something to break the awkward silence when the ghost suddenly shook himself out of his reverie and smiled at them.

"My, where are my manners? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington, at your service. Well, come along then, I will show you the way." With that, he floated off in front of them, humming quietly to himself and leaving Viktor and Emil to exchange bemused looks and follow quickly after him.

After bidding goodbye to the gallant ghost, Viktor found himself gaping around at literally _hundreds_ of owls roosting about in the vaulted tower room and—for the majority of them—watching him curiously.

"So what's the next step in this genius plan of yours?" Emil asked lightly, not entirely succeeding in keeping the sarcasm from his voice.

"Oh shut it," Viktor snapped, more to cover the fact that he had no answer nor anything else planned. An initial scan showed no sign of a snowy owl, though the constant shifting of so many wings and bodies and the darkness itself was greatly hampering Viktor's ability to see what was going on.

"Erm, Hedwig? Hedwig! Are you here? I need to send a letter to your owner! Hedwig, please, I need your help," Viktor called out, feeling foolish but willing to try anything to send a message to his Survivor. "Well, I sound ridiculous," he mused quietly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Well that's…"

"…rather fitting…"

"…seeing as you look…"

"…rather ridiculous…"

"…as well."

"Oh, and you're a jerk," one of the fiery-haired twins who had appeared, scowling, in the owlery doorway added as an afterthought. Viktor noticed Emil straightening up and carefully extracting his wand out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was focused on the two young men glaring at him.

"I beg your pardon?" He spluttered out, but before either had a chance to answer him he noticed the snowy owl that was resting on one of their arms. "Hedwig!" He would have stepped forward had the twin holding the owl not side-stepped protectively behind his brother, who now had a wand levelled between Viktor's eyes.

"You don't want to do that," Emil's voice spoke quietly from behind him, a deadly calm to his tone.

"You've no _idea_ what we want to do to this arse for hurting our friend," the twin holding the owl growled, having shifted so that his own wand was levelled back at Emil even as he continued to shield the owl protectively. Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place, and—acting purely on instinct—he reached behind him and grabbed onto Emil's wand-warm, forcing it down to his side. He ignored the indignant hiss from his friend and instead turned his attention back to the two red-heads.

"You're his twins, Survivor's I mean; the ones he calls his big brothers."

"Harry said that?" One of the red-heads asked, and both their expressions softened visibly, their eyes sparkling happily.

"Harry," Viktor repeated, nodding distractedly. The name felt familiar, seeming to 'fit' with what he knew of Survivor somehow. There was a moment of silence, then the other twin asked cautiously,

"You have no idea who he is, do you?" Viktor shrugged and shook his head at their incredulous looks. The one in front snorted and lowered his wand, though he kept it in his hand after a pointed glance at Emil who was doing the same. His brother shoved his own wand in his pocket and stepped up next to his brother, cooing and petting Hedwig gently.

"Let's play a game," he said amiably, still stroking the soft white feathers. "You tell us what the hell happened between you and Harry today, and we'll decide whether to help you or hex you." Seeing it as the chance it was, Viktor quickly launched into a summary of the events since his arrival at Hogwarts, from his perspective. By the time he finished, Fred and George (they had finally introduced themselves) had both groaned several times, and one of them (he really couldn't tell them apart) had actually hit his head against the stone wall at some point.

"I _never_ meant to hurt him, I swear to you," Viktor finished pleadingly. The twins watched him for a moment, then looked at each other and seemed to have an entire conversation with only the waggle of eyebrows and tilt of lips.

"Alright. Hedwig is sending an important note for us—"

"—one that we won't trust with any other owl—"

"—but if you have a note ready we'll take it to Harry..."

"…and we'll try talking to him," they offered, though they both looked as though they held doubts about getting involved at all, much less to help Viktor get another chance.

"_Thank you,_" Viktor gushed sincerely, and he didn't even mind when he noticed Emil biting back a smirk at his expense. One of the twins must have noticed as well, for he suddenly addressed Emil.

"What did you think of Vikkie's behavior earlier?" He asked challengingly. Emil, though, simply shrugged unconcerned and promptly responded with,

"I shoved him and told him he was a moron." The twin only grunted in response, but there was a mischievous glint of approval in his eyes.

"By the way," his brother added, just as the two of them slipped through the doorway to leave the owlery. "If you hurt Harry Potter again, I promise you we won't be the only ones coming to hurt you." With matching smirks at the dumbfounded, slack-jawed expression on Viktor's face, they slipped away. A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and managed to stop gaping at the empty doorway, turning instead to look at Emil.

"You do realize you compared the kid to the Boy-Who-Lived at one point, right? And nick-named him Survivor?" He asked conversationally, even as his eyes danced with humor.

"Oh shut up Emil," Viktor groaned with a blush. His friend was mercifully quiet for a minute, but then,

"You know we don't know how to get back out of the castle, right?"

Viktor promptly decided that best friends were overrated.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **Well, it's getting posted before midnight my time, so on time... just barely, I admit. However, I have officially decided to write a sequel at some point here, so I decided I had to change some things up in this last chapter, and it took longer than I expected for me to be happy with it. But yeah, sequel-Merry Christmas! Haha. I won't have time to start writing it immediately, and I don't think I'll post it until I have the whole thing written like I did with this one, but it _will_ happy, I promise.

I'm really happy with this little story. I like how all the characters interact, I still LOVE Emil, and I think I found the right balance between angsty teenage struggles and crossing into a plot that would be entirely unrealistic. I hope that all of you enjoyed it as well, and aren't disappointed in the 'end' of the story!

While you're waiting for a sequel, I encourage you to check out my WIP story, Order of the Dragon. It's a much longer story than this one, a Harry/Charlie pairing, with some Fred/George and a few others thrown in there as well. I've been working on it for ages-it's my baby.

Thanks again for following this story, and for all of your reviews!

-Emmette

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE

For the second night in a row, the Great Hall was filled with the buzz of excited voices and Harry Potter sat at the Gryffindor table with his head down, oblivious to all of it. He had come to dinner early, becoming nearly desperate after a full night and day of avoiding his friends, and he was quickly regretting his decision. Interspersed with speculation on who the Hogwarts champion would be was animated discussion on Viktor Krum. Just as Lavendar Brown asked who had been lucky enough to write to Krum all summer and Harry began debating getting up and leaving before dinner even started, he was suddenly hedged in to his place at the table by a red-headed twin sliding onto the bench on either side of him.

"You wouldn't happen to be thinking about bolting…"

"…now would you, Harry?"

"Because we've been trying to track you down…"

"…all day long." They both raised their eyebrows at him pointedly, and Harry decided it was safest simply to look down at where his hands were clasped nervously together in his lap.

"We talked to Krum last night," two voices whispered into the silence, and if it hadn't been for twin sets of arms quickly grabbing onto his shoulders, Harry was sure he would have shot off the bench.

"You what?! Why would you do that? Who said… I didn't… Why did…"

"Breathe, little brother. Come on, you need to calm down. Everything's fine, we promise; relax and breathe and we'll explain everything." It was the endearment, falling so naturally from Fred's lips, that calmed Harry more than the rest of his words or even the gentle hug and back rub he was getting from George on his other side. Seeing that Harry was at least prepared to listen, the twins quickly launched into the tale of their run-in with the Bulgarian seeker the night before, switching off seamlessly in their story-telling, before George reached into his pocket and pulled out a note, setting it on the table in front of Harry.

"We haven't read it, it didn't feel like our place. We're not going to tell you what to do, but he seemed sincere, and… well, we'd hate to see you throw away something that could make you happy, even if he is a bit of an idiot. Whatever you decide, though, we're your big brothers and we'll have your back." Harry looked up with shining eyes at this promise, and found that the usual mischief in the twins' eyes had been replaced for the moment by affection and a fiercely protective glint.

"Why…?" Harry honestly had no idea how to even finish his question, but thankfully Fred and George seemed to know what he was asking even without the words.

"You've been family…"

"…for years, Harry. Ever since…"

"…your first Weasley Christmas sweater."

"We were just waiting for you to accept it," they finished together with a smile. Fred tousled his hair, grinning at the half-hearted scowl this earned him, and George nudged Viktor's note toward him before he could get distracted again. After looking back and forth between his friends…his brothers…several times, Harry took a deep breath and unfolded the parchment.

_Survivor, _

_I don't know how I'll manage to get this note to you, only that I must. The  
alternative—losing your friendship before I've even had a chance to earn  
it—is simply intolerable. All I ask is that you read this note and consider  
my apology._

_I lost my temper earlier, and you paid the price. For that, I have no excuse.  
As you've no doubt realized who I am, I hope you can understand that I  
have had some poor experiences with strangers trying to win over my favor for  
their own selfish reasons. When you approached me, I had already reached  
the end of my patience with fawning students. When you offered me your feather,  
the way you spoke, and seeing no feather on my own staff… I thought I had gotten  
my hopes up for nothing. I spent all of dinner looking around the hall, hoping  
for some sign of you. When you didn't approach me after so long, I began to  
think you had changed your mind about meeting me, now that you know who I  
am. I didn't realize my staff had gotten switched with my friend's, and that was  
why there was no feather. I realize that does not justify my cruel words to you,  
but please believe that I am truly sorry for hurting you._

_I understand if you choose not to give me another chance, but I cannot help  
but plead for your forgiveness. I want nothing more than the chance to earn  
your friendship, little Survivor. Please._

_My sincerest, most humble apologies,_

_Viktor Krum_

Harry wanted to believe the gentle words, but Viktor was right; he had hurt him. More than that, Harry wasn't sure he could trust him the same way again.

"It would probably be a feather in a famous quidditch player's cap, to be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry said so only the twins could hear, bitterly pleased with his own play on words and folding up the letter, but unable to bring himself to set it down just yet. They were quiet for a moment, then George turned him gently so he was force to look the red-head eye-to-eye.

"Whatever that letter said, Harry, he had written it before we found him in the owlery. He had no idea who you were yet." Harry stared back, trying to fight down the hope that was bubbling in his chest, not wanting to be hurt again. Luckily, he was saved having to come up with an answer by the arrival of Ron and Hermione followed by the start of the feast. He was actually grateful that Dumbledore gave in to his students' anxious anticipation and brought out the Goblet of Fire before dessert had finished, as he still wasn't sure what he wanted to do or say. Hermione had sent him several mildly suspicious looks throughout the meal, but even she was blessedly distracted as Dumbledore began speaking.

"The goblet is almost ready to make its decision…" He went on to remind the audience of the process, and give directions for the students whose names would be chosen. Finally, with a great sweep of his wand, the candles dimmed and the voices in the hall died away. Every eye in the hall was on the goblet when the flames suddenly turned red and shot sparks before spitting out a charred bit of parchment. Catching it deftly, Dumbledore looked at it for a moment before announcing, "The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum!" There was a roar of applause, and though Harry clapped along with the rest of the students, he could feel his face pale as a cold wave of fear for his pen-pal washed over him. _And really, I suppose that shows my decision right there, _Harry mused, as he watched Viktor slouch up toward the staff table before turning and disappearing through a doorway. _Shadow or Krum, I care about him too much to just let this go._

He was still frowning when the flames turned red a second time and Fleur Delacour became the champion for Beauxbatons. The blond who Ron had declared the day before must be part Veela rose from the Ravenclaw table with a pleased grin, and Ginny, for whatever reason, looked between her and Ron (who was watching her every move with a dopey grin) once before burying her face in her hands and bursting into muffled giggles. Harry watched in bemused confusion then thanked whatever higher power existed once more for giving him a male pen-pal.

Finally, the goblet glowed red a third time, and even Harry found himself focused solely on listening to the announcement of the Hogwarts champion. When Dumbledore called out Cedric's name, he hadn't even finished the word 'Diggory' before his voice was drowned out by the pure roar of approval from the Hufflepuff table. Harry clapped enthusiastically, grinning at the shy pride on Cedric's face as he made his way up to the head table and blushed at the approving nod from Sprout.

As Dumbledore quieted the students and happily went on to encourage everyone to cheer on their school's champion, Harry let his thoughts drift back to Viktor and how best to let his friend know that he accepted his apology. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the flames of the Goblet glowing red a fourth time or the eerie hush that fell over the room. In fact, it wasn't until Dumbledore was calling his name into the silence with an unfamiliar icy voice that he realized what was going on. Glancing around startled, looking from the charred parchment in the headmaster's hand to the accusing glares from around the hall to poorly hidden fear in Fred and George's eyes, Harry couldn't help but sink into his seat with a pitiful whispered "No…"

"Harry," Hermione hissed at him, trying to keep her voice quiet in the face of the oppressive silence. "Harry, for goodness sakes, you have to go up there!"

"I don't want to! I don't want anything to do with this! Hermione, I…" He trailed off, just shaking his head with a lost expression. Hermione grimaced, wincing apologetically at him, but it didn't stop her from sending a mild stinging hex at him from under the table that had him jumping to his feet.

"I know, I'm sorry, but Harry you have to go up there now!" She urged, sending a quick frown towards the head table. Gulping, Harry reluctantly walked up towards Dumbledore, feeling extremely small under the man's penetrating gaze. He risked a glance at the rest of the head table, hoping to distract himself from the sneers and speculative whispers of the students, but instantly regretted it. McGonagal was staring back at him, tight-lipped and stony-faced, Snape was outright glaring, and even Hagrid had lost his usual smile, simply watching Harry with wide eyes in an expressionless face.

Harry paused in front of the headmaster, looking pleadingly up at him. For a moment, he thought the gaze softened ever-so-slightly, but nonetheless an arm was raised and pointed silently towards the door the other three champions had disappeared behind. Squaring his shoulders, determinedly avoiding meeting anyone else's gaze, Harry walked briskly to the door and stepped inside. His thoughts ran in a constant, panicked mantra of _no, no, no, no, no…_

xXxXxXxXx

Viktor Krum looked up eagerly when the door to the chamber swung open. He and the other two champions had been standing in silence for several minutes and it was quickly growing awkward. Having had his name drawn from the goblet first, he did not even have the benefit of knowing the names of his opponents, and therefore felt at quite a disadvantage. As desperate as he was for a distraction, however, he was entirely unprepared to find the small, tousle-haired figure of his little Survivor (_Harry Potter, his name is Harry_ he reminded himself absently) standing just inside the entrance of the room and staring blankly at the floor in front of him.

"What is it? Do zey want us back in ze hall?" The somewhat haughty, slightly impatient questions from the blond Beauxbaton's champion seemed to pull Harry out of his thoughts, but when he looked up at them, he only shook his head silently. Viktor, for his part, felt his heart clench. Those green eyes were nearly swirling with emotions: confusion, fear, a blooming hint of resignation, and underneath it all a loneliness so stark that the Bulgarian felt an overwhelming urge to sweep the young man into his arms and hold him until that look disappeared.

He had time for none of this, however, as the door had opened again, this time to an overly enthusiastic Ludo Bagman, who steered Harry over to the other waiting champions, spouting off about the marvel of a fourth champion. Watching Harry's face pale, Viktor felt his own stomach clench. Even without the benefit of knowing the young man's opinions on the tournament beforehand, it could not have been more clear that his little Survivor wanted nothing to do with his champion status. Unbidden, he recalled line from one of Harry's summer letters: _I don't know how these things always happen to me. _Before he could muse on this further, there were footsteps and raised voices from the hall, and then the three school heads, Crouch, and two Hogwarts professors strode into the room: the severe Scots-woman who had helped get the mob of students off of him the day before, and the dark, sneering potions master Krum had learned was the head of Slytherin House, where he and his classmates had been taking their meals.

Viktor listened absently as 'the adults' in the room argued back and forth about Hogwart's second representative, but he had eyes only for his fellow champions. The blond from Beauxbatons looked annoyed, that much was obvious, but as Harry continued to stand pale and silent, she had stopped complaining and was instead frowning contemplatively at the smaller boy. The other Hogwarts champion looked flustered and somewhat confused, but his eyes would flicker over and he would frown whenever someone said something negative about his classmate. Viktor wasn't sure if either of them believed it when Harry assured Dumbledore that he had not put his name in the goblet or asked an older student to do so, but at the very least they seemed to be taking some degree of offense to the slander being sent Harry's way.

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," Karkaroff's cold, steely voice drew Krum's attention back into the argument. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools." Viktor scoffed, knowing that his headmaster had been preening for weeks now that he was a shoe-in for Durmstrang champion, and that he was likely beaming inside that his 'pet' student was gaining even more fame. Once again, he wished Emil would allow him to tell the blundering fool where to shove it, but Emil insisted it was worth it to allow the man his delusions of Viktor's respect until they had graduated, and Viktor did _try_ not to ruin Emil's plans. Before he could come up with an appropriate response, the Hogwarts potions master stepped forward, and his harsh, sneering words left Viktor seething with rage.

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," he said softly, his black eyes alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here—just like his father, so arrogant, so conceited, so—"

"Vhat bravery it must take," Viktor snarled, suddenly finding himself standing between the tall man and the pale boy, "to insult a child's dead parents. I do not believe that you are the head of a school or a ministry representative; you 'ave no business here. I vish for you to leave." He had drawn himself to his full height and flexed his shoulders under his furs, hardening his eyes and staring up at the man with all the intimidation he could muster. Never more grateful for Emil's foresight, Viktor shot a pointed look towards Krum, who—though he clearly did not understand the source of his favorite student's anger—was only too happy to interfere with Dumbledore's man on Viktor's behalf.

"I must agree, Albus; your staff are not to take part in the running of this tournament. Unless this is another rule you are intending to break tonight…?"

"Of course not, Igor, of course not. Severus?" His tone was light, but even Viktor could see the steely glint in the man's eyes that warned against argument. The man narrowed his eyes, but turned and left with a swirl of his robes. Dumbledore then turned to the Scottish woman, and with a sad smile addressed her gently. "Minerva, I must ask you to leave as well. It appears your young lion is in good hands." She frowned at the older wizard, her nostrils flaring angrily, then glanced between Viktor and Harry with a calculating look. Finally, her eyes rested a moment on the younger boy, expression softening for just a second, before hardening again as her gaze turned back and her eyes locked with Viktor's. She nodded at him, just the slightest inclination of her head.

"My lady," Viktor replied respectfully, dipping his own head in acknowledgement. With a curt nod at Dumbledore, the woman left the chamber as well. Viktor returned stiffly to his place by the fire, staring broodingly into the flames. After a few minutes, he felt the weight of a stare resting on him, and was unsurprised when he looked up to find Harry watching him. He was surprised, however, that the smaller boy held his gaze steadily, neither of them looking away until Alastor Moody, who had stormed in a little while earlier, made his ominous prediction.

Viktor gaped at the man. He thought someone entered Harry's name into the Goblet hoping he would die in the tournament? Who would plot the death of a fourteen-year-old? He looked around the room, hoping for confirmation that the man was merely being paranoid, but Dumbledore looked only weary, and even Karkaroff and Maxime were looking uncomfortable rather than doubtful or alarmed. Viktor turned back to Harry to gauge his reaction, and was floored when he saw a dejected but resigned look on his face. He glanced up and met Viktor's eyes briefly, but quickly looked away, grimacing with an almost guilty expression. _He's just been told that someone may be trying to kill him, and this is his only reaction? It's like he's used to this! _Viktor thought back to his young pen-pals blasé attitude towards whatever incident led to rescue by a phoenix, and he regarded the quiet young man with growing apprehension.

He listened distractedly as Bagman and Crouch gave their instructions to the champions, then bit back a growl of frustration when Harry slipped from the room at the first possible moment and Karkaroff tried to hold Viktor back to talk with him. He let the man babble on for several minutes, not listening to what he was saying, before finally losing his patience.

"I must go," he said brusquely, shoving past his headmaster with no further explanation and shifting uncomfortably under the twinkling look Dumbledore gave him as he stepped into the corridor. Retracing his route from the dining hall on instinct, Viktor slowed his steps at the sound of voices floating towards him but did not stop. He stepped out into the room, finding himself behind the long table where the professors sat for meals, and looked down to find Harry slumped against a wall on the other side of the room, the red-headed twins crouching down on either side of him. Hesitating only a moment, he started walking towards them, listening to Harry's distraught rant.

"…one year, that's all I wanted; just one year without someone trying to kill me. First year, it was Voldemort possessing professor Quirrell, and going after the Sorceror's Stone… second year it was Voldemort's spirit trapped in his old diary, possessing Ginny and setting the basilisk loose on the school—not to mention fighting the basilisk itself. Do you have _any_ idea how much basilisk venom hurts?! Then putting up with damn dementors all last year, listening to my parents die every time they come near me, all because I supposedly had a deranged mass murderer who escaped an un-escapable prison with the sole purpose of hunting me down to avenge Voldemort... Anyone seeing a pattern here? If someone's trying to get me killed, three guesses as to who might be behind it. I'm bloody fourteen! I've had three years of school, I didn't even know magic existed before that and I might as well be a muggle for all the exposure I have to magic in the summers. I can't do this!" The bitter, angry fuel that seemed to have driven his rant finally faded out, leaving only a scared, broken-sounding boy in its wake.

"Harry…" one of the twins said helplessly, both of them watching their friend at a loss for words. Viktor didn't know if his presence would be welcome, but seeing the defeated slump in Harry's posture and having heard the truly remarkable feats this amazing young man had been forced to survive at such a young age (for he had no doubt that Harry, in his fear and rage, had spoken nothing but the truth), he couldn't stay quiet any longer. Stepping forward, Viktor knelt down in front of Harry and reached out to lift his chin, locking eyes with the startled youth.

"I vrote to a remarkable young man this summer. He refused to give in to bullies or cower in the face of Death Eaters, and he vas fiercely proud of the parents who gave their lives so that he could have his. He also told me vonce, '_There's nothing more precious than feeling loved.'"_ Viktor glanced meaningfully at Fred and George, who were still crouched at Harry's side, hands resting supportively on his shoulders. "Do you really think that your brothers and friends vill leave you to face this tournament alone?" Harry didn't say anything, but he was sitting up straight now, and looking between the three of them with a look that could only be described as hope.

Viktor smiled softly and stood, brushing off his robes where he had knelt on the stone floor. He wanted to pull the young man into his arms and comfort him, tell him that everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about, but he did know if he was truly welcomed here right now, and Harry deserved more than placating platitudes anyway, however well-intentioned. Still, he couldn't help but say one more thing before turning to go back to the ship.

"If it means anything, my offer still stands: should you ever need a friend—should you ever need a protector—I will be there." With that, he turned and began walking away. He was so deep in thought that he had not registered the footsteps coming up behind him, and so startled when a small hand settled timidly on his arm. He turned around, surprised to find Harry standing mere inches from him, a determined expression on his face. Silently, the boy lifted an arm towards him…

…and offered a red feather. With a trembling hand Viktor took it, eyes darting searchingly over the other boy's face.

"Hi," Harry said with a smile, and kept his now empty hand held out. "My name is Harry Potter." Grinning suddenly, Viktor clasped the small hand in his own.

"Viktor Krum." Harry nodded, still smiling, as he shook then released his hand.

"It's very nice to meet you. I… hope we will be friends this year." With his heart hammering happily, Viktor could only grin wider.

"I'd like that." He glanced over Harry's shoulder to see the twins watching the younger boy's antics with matching indulgent smiles. "I think it is time I made some new friends." With one last shy grin, Harry turned and let the red-heads lead him out of the hall. Viktor waited until they disappeared from sight before turning once more to leave for his ship. The worry for his young Survivor remained, and his thoughts were racing over all that he had heard that night, but as he walked back towards Emil and the rest of the Durmstrang students, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face.


	13. Sequel Alert!

**Sequel Alert!**

For anyone following this story who is interested, I have posted the first chapter of a sequel in the "International Magical Cooperation" series. Thank you again to everyone who read and reviewed this story, I am glad that others could enjoy as much as I did.

-Emmette


End file.
